


For we are but made of Clay

by Maewn



Series: Beyond the reaches of Sea, Sky and Stars [3]
Category: The Dragon Prince (Cartoon)
Genre: AU, Aaravos is Callum's dad, Backstory, Callum is a half-elf, F/M, Gen, all aboard the speculation train, blame tumblr for this one, elves man, season two spoilers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-16
Updated: 2019-08-23
Packaged: 2019-10-29 18:24:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 33,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17813108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maewn/pseuds/Maewn
Summary: Callum dreams of the stars sometimes, bright and glimmering above him.They seem to wink at him, warm and familiar as his room in the castle, with his sketchbooks and drawings and soft bed.Sometimes, he hears a voice, deep and old, in a way he’s come to associate with Primal magic itself.Harrow is his father, but at the same time, Callum knows this voice.Somehow.





	1. Far from home

Aaravos watches the darkened mirror, humming quietly.

All according to plan then.

He has a pawn in Viren, and he may listen through the man’s ears if he so chooses.

Now, he closes his eyes and casts his awareness down, into the world that he’s been apart from for so long, trapped as he is in this tower.

One thousand years is a long time, if it has truly been so long. Time passes oddly in this place, unknowable and unreachable now that the gate was destroyed.

And what crime had he committed, what terrible sin had he manifested to justify such a banishment?

Aaravos sighs at the memory of the stars warping as he’d reached out, in one last attempt to reverse what had been done as he tumbled down, down, down into this prison.

But now is not the time to ruminate on what was, but on what is, what forces stir the world to ruin.

The Dragon Prince flits through the world on wings of palest blue and the thought brings to mind the first dragons, Sung into being by their long-forgotten gods.

Aaravos remembers them, bright and glorious in a way that no longer exists, eroded by the passage of time and fading mortal memory.

He’s felt the touch of Sky, burning blue and white in the hands of a mage not born to the elements known to all mortalkind. It is fascinating, and he follows the marks left by the mage as they have journeyed west, towards Aaravos’s beloved Xadia.

-

Callum dreams of the stars sometimes, bright and glimmering above him.

They seem to wink at him, warm and familiar as his room in the castle, with his sketchbooks and drawings and soft bed.

Sometimes, he hears a voice, deep and old, in a way he’s come to associate with Primal magic itself.

Harrow is his father, but at the same time, Callum _knows_ this voice.

Somehow.

“ _Sky, is the youngest of all Primal Elements, little_ _najima_ _,”_ the voice says. _“It is the wind, the gathering storm, the hurricane’s eye. To grasp it, you must cast aside_ _the_ _fears_ _that chain you to the earth_ _, and rise as a bird on the wing.”_

He casts Aspiro with his mother’s words in mind, but heeds the words that he’s heard in his dreams as well. The spell flows from his lips with ease, and as he does he swears he hears a laugh of delight from just over his shoulder, but he knows that no one stands there.

He turns to find Ezran walking up the path, Corvus in tow.

There is a flash of blue at his right, a touch to his shoulder.

_Well done, little najima._

Clearly he’s seeing and hearing things, so he refocuses on his brother, puts aside the revelation of Sky for the time being.

-

Aaravos laughs with delight, watching the mage grasp that Spark of Sky and set it free.

Such a clever child, he muses.

He reaches for one of the few tomes in his tower that still has blank pages after all these years, and begins to write.

He needs to study this further, see what else might be learned. Besides, splitting his attention between both Viren and this mage is tiresome, and with Viren in a prison cell at the moment, fate undecided, he can focus on the mage more.

He is a slender child, no more than 14 years of age, with green eyes and dark hair.

Aaravos tilts his head, noting the slight edge to the boy’s ears, half hidden by his hair. Not entirely human then, he decides.

Interesting... _wait_...there’s something on the edge of his memory, something hazed by time and magic not his own.

Something about...pain lances through his skull as he tries to grab hold of the knowledge and his howl of anguish reverberates through the air.

This boy, he means something to the world, to magic, something to the intricate weave of fate that clings to the very stars themselves.

It is _important._

He struggles to his feet, the tome forgotten and staggers to the center of the tower, where the circle of Primal symbols sits, glimmering with starlight.

_Why can’t he remember?_

He presses a shaking hand to Sky, breath rasping in his lungs as he attempts to retrieve the knowledge stolen from him.

But even that is too much, consciousness hurtling away from him, and he slumps, unmoving upon the stone.

-

It takes Callum and Rayla two days to reach the border of Xadia. It’s rough, without Ezran, and Callum wants more than anything for him to be there with them as they return Zym home.

It’s unfair, he thinks, turning the puzzle box over in his hands, tracing the design of Sky as he ruminates.

“I’ll take first watch,” Rayla says on the second night. “You get some rest. You look like you need it.”

Callum sighs, “Do I really look that bad?”

“Well, you look less like a dead person,” Rayla says, running a whetstone down her blades, eyeing the edge suspiciously.

Callum glares.

“What?” Rayla says. “It’s the truth.” She smiles at him. “Get to sleep, Callum. I’ll wake you for your watch.”

“Alright,” Callum says.

He dreams of a room, the walls cool stone, colorful tapestries fluttering against them. It feels like Sky here, wind ruffling his hair, light and airy in a way that few places are.

It is also not empty.

Someone lies on the floor, sprawled in a manner that Callum can only call elegant, like all those paintings that line the Hall of Fallen in the palace, Kings and Queens in gentle repose.

This person isn’t human, pale hair long and shimmering, dark horns curling back, not unlike Rayla’s.

Their skin is like starlight, as if twilight sky had decided to take on a mortal form, like one of the fairy tales Mom had told him at bedtime so long ago.

White diamonds gleam beneath their eyes, glowing faintly.

Callum approaches hesitantly, kneeling beside them, letting out a faint sigh of relief as their chest rises and falls gently. Not dead, just asleep?

“Hello?” he whispers.

No reply.

Now that he is closer, Callum can see one hand is pressed to the glowing symbol of Sky, engraved into the floor. Beside the figure’s head, the symbol of the Star glows with pale white light.

This person is connected to the Star, Callum realizes, remembering the cube’s propensity to light up with corresponding elements.

And with Sky too, he thinks, looking to the glowing blue symbol.

He reaches out to touch their shoulder, shaking gently.

“Hey,” he says.

A quiet groan, eyelids fluttering, and their head turns, eyes opening at last.

They’re black eyes, and Callum winces at the sight, though he can see that the eyes aren’t all black, as the irises are a warm gold, surrounded by pitch black darkness.

The head tilts, watching him, curious.

“ _Little najima,”_ the familiar, deep voice says. _“You are very far from home, indeed.”_

“Who are you?” Callum says.

The figure smiles, _“I am Aaravos, little_ _najima_ _. Now, what is_ _ **your**_ _name?”_


	2. Questions

The child sits beside him, and though he had flinched as Aaravos had opened his eyes, he seems to hold little fear now.

“I’m Callum,” the boy says.

“ _Callum,”_ Aaravos says, rolling the name around in his mouth. It doesn’t fit this mage. _“What a strange name...”_

“Hey,” Callum scowls, “My mom picked that name, I’ll have you know!”

“ _And what pray tell,”_ Aaravos asks, _“Was her name?”_

Aaravos hardly remembers his own parents, their names lost to time and their faces blurred in his long memory.

“Sarai,” Callum says. “Mom’s name was Sarai.”

“ _Sarai,”_ Aaravos murmurs. That is a name he does know, for her death created a twist in the warp of fate’s loom. But the name is also strangely familiar, and he thinks for a moment that he smells the sweet scent of lotuses in bloom, feels something soft beneath his fingers.

It is there for but a second and then gone.

“ _She was a Queen of...Katolis?”_ Aaravos asks, parsing through his memory.

“Yeah,” Callum says, looking away.

“ _Hmmm,”_ Aaravos hums, _“Tell me, little najima, what brings you here?”_

“I don’t know,” Callum says. “I was sleeping before.”

“ _Interesting,”_ Aaravos says, shifting so he lies on his back, staring up at the high domed ceiling. _“I suppose you have questions.”_

“Some, if you’d be willing to answer them,” Callum says.

Aaravos smiles. _“Sit, little najima, and I will answer_ _if I may_ _. You are newly come to magic. You must want to learn all you can.”_

“What’s the catch?” Callum asks, and Aaravos’s smile widens. Good, one should know a bargain’s terms before one agrees to anything.

“ _All I ask, is that any magic you learn from me that you cast in the waking world, you will tell no one who has taught you. My name is...not wise to speak aloud.”_

“Why not?”

“ _There is a reason, young one,”_ Aaravos says, _“That I am kept here. But we will not speak on such today. To understand the Sources, we must start at the very beginning.”_

Callum frowns, but says nothing.

“ _Long ago,”_ Aavaros begins, _“Xadia was one land, rich in magic and wonder. In the old times, there were only six Primal Sources of magic: the Sun, the Moon, the Stars, the Earth, the Sky, and the Ocean.”_

“I can use Sky,” Callum says. “But I don’t know any of the others.”

“ _The Sky calls to you,”_ Aavaros says. _“It is unusual for a **human** to have such a connection.”_

“Yeah, I’ve been told that,” Callum says. “I wanted to ask Mom more about my birth dad but never got the chance.”

“ _You did not know him?”_

“No. I knew little things, like his favorite color and that he was an artist like me, but...not a lot else,” Callum says, and changes the subject, “Why do you keep calling me little ‘najima’?

“ _It means little star,”_ Aaravos says, “ _for you shine like the stars themselves, so bright with potential and power. You have the makings of a great mage, Callum.”_

“Thanks,” Callum says, flushing, “If you don’t mind me asking, what _are_ you exactly?”

Aaravos laughs. _“I am a Startouch elf and there was a time when we numbered as grains of sand upon the shore. Now we are fading and falling like comets from the sky, few and disparate.”_

“I’ve never heard of Startouch elves before.”

“ _I am not surprised,”_ Aaravos murmurs, _“We prefered to watch the world from afar for much of history. We only became more involved when humanity learned to bend magic to their will.”_

“The dark magic,” Callum says.

“ _Correct.”_

* * *

Callum shivers at the thought of the dark magic. He had used it once, more out of desperation than anything but he doesn’t want to use it again if he can.

Now that he knows how to use Sky, to connect to that Primal source, he wants to learn more. Could he connect to other sources? Could he learn to connect to the moon like Rayla, or to the sun?

“ _You’ve used it before, haven’t you?”_ Aaravos says softly.

Callum looks down at him.

The elf’s eyes are closed, hands folded across his chest, expression calm.

“Used what?” Callum asks.

“ _The dark magic,”_ Aaravos murmurs, _“It leaves a mark on its users, faintly in your case, though over prolonged usage of it, the mage becomes scarred and deformed. Dark magic is the easy way out, little najima. Do not forget that.”_ his voice is soft, quiet enough that Callum must lean closer to hear him.

“I won’t,” Callum says. “Can you teach me to connect to the Stars, seeing as you’re a startouch elf?”

“ _I could,”_ Aavaros says, _“But my magic is weakened for the time being, little najima.”_

“Is that why you were on the floor?” Callum asks, wondering if the elf can even move off the floor at the moment.

Aaravos gives a tiny nod.

“ _I pushed too hard,”_ the elf says mournfully, _“I won’t make the same mistake again. However, I can tell you what the Stars are like, their concepts and ideas.”_

“I’d like that,” Callum says.

“ _The Stars are knowledge, a guide in the dark when all is lost, they were the Firstborn of Creation, and saw the world come to be. They know all, seeing across all of time and for all time. You need only ask for guidance, and the Stars will show you the way.”_

“That sounds...surprisingly easy,” Callum says.

“ _Perhaps the Stars will answer you as Sky has,”_ Aaravos says, sounding tired.

“Are you alright?” Callum asks.

“ _I am weary,”_ Aaravos says, and his dark eyes are half-lidded now, watching Callum. _“Some things are not meant to be known. And the backlash of knowing can be...harmful.”_

“What if I want to learn everything?” Callum asks.

Aaravos laughs quietly, _“Then you learn what you can, but know the risks. Know how to shield yourself from the worst and know how to defend against it if the attempt goes ill.”_

“How do I shield then?” Callum asks, “Could I use Aspiro to do that?”

“ _You could,”_ Aaravos murmurs, _“Cast the spell you want to try outside of the range of Aspiro, using the wind to block the effects if it goes badly.”_

“What spell did you cast earlier?” Callum asks. “Why couldn’t you block it?”

Aaravos laughs again, low and bone-tired to Callum’s ears. _“I wanted to an answer to a question._ _But_ _it seems,_ _I cannot know the answer. It is hidden from me, for what reason I know not. I pushed for the answer, and the spell backlashed._ _I could not block it because it is a part of me. Part of my magic, my connection to Sky and Stars. You could block such a spell because_ _human_ _s are not born to magic as we elves are._ _Your mother’s blood protects you,_ _little najima._ _Even in death, she protects you._ _”_

Callum closes his eyes against the sudden tears. Mom’s death has never truly dulled over time, and though Ezran dimly remembers their mother, Callum has vivid, bright memories of Sarai.

“ _Ah,”_ Aaravos says, and then there are slender arms about Callum’s shoulders, the press of silken cloth beneath his cheek. _“I did not mean to bring you to tears, little najima.”_

“It’s okay,” Callum chokes out, the grief catching the words in his throat. “It just reminded me of her.”

Aaravos hums quietly, saying nothing.

It takes Callum time to collect himself, and he finds himself a little reluctant to leave the hug. Stranger or no, he feels safe here.

* * *

Aaravos can _feel_ the grief that lingers about Callum. The loss of a mother is heavy, especially when one is young. He knows this from the experiences of others if not for himself. Although, come to think of it, he doesn’t even know if his own parents still live.

He finds that he doesn’t particularly care, either. He gets the vague sense that they did not care enough to help him before his imprisonment. He has little wish to see them again if they are alive.

At last, Callum shifts, pulling away, wiping at his face.

“ _There is a spell that I may teach you,”_ Aaravos offers. He has enough strength to do that at least, and he’d like to make up for causing the child to cry.

“A spell?” Callum asks.

“ _Yes,”_ Aaravos says, bringing his hands up and tracing the lines of power into the air, glowing white with the power of the Stars. _“Inlustris,”_ he breathes and tiny stars wink into existence, circling about him, giving off a faint aura. _“It may illuminate your path in your journeys.”_

“Wow,” Callum whispers, scooting a little further back, hands up to mimic the spell.

Aaravos laughs, _“Eager, aren’t we?”_

“Well, yeah,” Callum says, grinning. His hands trace elegant lines of power, his eyes half closed as he concentrates.

“ _Inlustris,”_ Aaravos says at the same time Callum does, and their voices reverberate, an audible hum through the air as stars appear around Callum.

“ _Wow,”_ Callum whispers, awestruck.

“ _Well done, little najima,”_ Aaravos murmurs. _“Properly cast on your first try no less. Impressive.”_

Callum beams at him. “My memory is really good.”

Something about his smile reminds Aaravos of-pain crackles like lightning through his mind and he gives a sharp hiss, closing his eyes and pressing his hands to his head, trying to breathe through the agony.

“Are you alright?” Callum asks and Aaravos feels one of the child’s hands touch his.

“ _I want to remember,”_ Aaravos growls, _“I want to remember, why won’t you let me?!”_

Callum’s fingers brush his forehead and there is a spark of clarity.

- _ **“**_ _ **Are you a elf?”**_

“ _ **Is there anything else I would be?”**_

“ _ **You could be a dragon.”**_

“ _ **I’d be a very small dragon, then.”**_

“ _ **Or you could shapeshift. I’ve heard dragons can shapeshift.”**_ _ **-**_

The voice is warm, curious and filled with a wry humor. He doesn’t know their name. He knows it’s there, buried under layers of magic that twists like chains through his own, tightening even as he attempts to pull back, fighting not to pass out again.

Callum’s hands are at his temples, his palms cold like ice and the sensation is enough to deaden the pain and Aavaros takes a ragged breath.

“Was that backlash?” Callum asks.

“ _Not...entirely,”_ Aavaros says, _“_ _Someone really...didn’t want me to remember...whatever it was.”_

He pauses. _“You used_ _Sky again...didn’t you?”_

“Yeah,” Callum says. “You look really pale. Like grey almost. Is that normal for Startouch elves?”

“ _No_ _,”_ Aaravos says, closing his eyes again. _“_ _I must rest...regain my strength.”_

He stands shakily, making his way over to his chair and slumping into it. Over a thousand years old, he thinks and he’s brought down by mind-altering magic. It’s sad really.

Callum is watching him, concerned.

“ _I will be fine, little najima,”_ Aaravos murmurs, eyes slipping shut. _“You should rest yourself, you no doubt have work to do when you wake properly.”_

* * *

“Wakey-wakey, Callum!” Rayla’s voice calls, and next moment, Callum is staring up at her pale face.

“Wha?” he mumbles, confused. Last thing he remembers is talking to Aaravos, who certainly hadn’t looked well, slumped in a cushioned chair near an ornate mirror.

“It’s time for your watch,” she informs him. “Please don’t fall asleep. I don’t want to wake up to banthers gnawing on my ankles.”

“Banthers don’t eat ankles,” Callum says, yawning and sitting up. “They eat your liver, everyone knows that.”

“Eww,” Rayla says, “That’s disgusting.”

Callum shrugs, reaching for his sketchbook and charcoal. The moon gives off enough light to sketch by.

“Go to sleep, Rayla,” Callum says as Rayla curls into a ball beside Zym. “I’ll make sure no banthers get us.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Rayla mutters and is snoring quietly in minutes.

Callum looks around and begins to draw.

He ends up drawing a caterpillar of some kind. It looks creepy, with a pincer-like mouth and strange markings down its sides.

He sighs and starts sketching again. The room he’d seen in his dreams takes shape beneath his charcoal, Aaravos asleep atop the circle of Primal symbols, expression peaceful.

Callum wonders why he told him not to speak his name aloud. Was it cursed? And why was he in that place?

He has so many questions to ask the elf. About himself, about the Primal Sources, and magic. Aavaros had said he was _kept_ there. So was he imprisoned for something? Or was he trapped there?

He muses over the questions for a long time until dawn creeps over the horizon.

He’s drawn Aavaros a few more times, wondering just how the elf was able to speak to him before. Maybe Startouch elves were different than Moon or Sunfire elves.

Callum closes his sketchbook and puts it away, moving to wake Rayla and Zym. They’ve still got a ways to go to get to the Moonlight Path into Xadia.

Best to get moving sooner rather than later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Edit: Just changed a few lines of dialogue for Callum regarding his father.


	3. The ties that bind us

Aaravos wakes slowly, feeling as if he’s been run over by a pack of banthers.

It hurts to even open his eyes, so he keeps them closed, trying to think past the pounding in his skull. Whatever magic was affecting was taking its sweet time in wearing off.

Not for the first time, he wonders what exactly he’s being prevented from remembering and why.

Well, he thinks, wincing, the why was easy. It’s probably something he could use to get out of the tower.

He’s tried once, he thinks, with disastrous results. He’d woken to part of the tower smoldering and the sharp sting of glass beneath his palms. He’d suffered a head injury in the blast and the blood has stained the stones closest to the door.

One of his horns had been partially chipped, though the cut had been clean rather than jagged, a mystery he’s never managed to solve.

His memories around that time are dulled, hazed in gray mist that he struggles to think through.

What had he been doing before falling asleep...ah, he’d been speaking with that young mage.

Callum, wasn’t it?

The name still doesn’t fit him. Something more like... _Sihr,_ or magic, in the common tongue. It sings as Aaravos speaks the name aloud.

Yes, that name fits him better.

There’s a flicker of sharp pain as something in his memories stirs but Aaravos doesn’t dwell long on it. He’s already in pain, he doesn’t need more.

Sleep would probably help so he closes his eyes and lets the darkness draw him down again.

* * *

Callum feels the hair on the back on his neck stand on end as he, Rayla and Zym shelter beneath an outcropping of rock.

It makes him shiver.

“Cold?” Rayla asks.

“Do you ever get the feeling like someone’s walking over your grave?” Callum asks.

“Sometimes,” Rayla says. “Why? You get that?”

“Yeah,” Callum says, rubbing his arms. “Don’t know why though.”

He eyes the horizon warily.

They’d managed to avoid irritating Sol for the moment thanks to Zym, but getting the prince back to his mom was a long journey as the Queen of Dragons lived deeper inside Xadia.

Rayla had estimated that at their current pace it might take them a month to get to Zym’s mom, if all things went according to plan.

Which given how their journey has gone so far, Callum has every expectation of it taking far longer to get there.

And Xadia was a lot hotter than Callum had expected.

Rayla hands her waterskin over as Callum coughs, resting her hands on her knees as she looked out into the dry, dust-filled landscape.

“It’s more like jungle further in,” Rayla says, “so less dust and more wet.”

“That sounds nicer than here,” Callum says, taking a drink and sighing as the water trickled down his parched throat.

“Well, the rainstorms will drown you if you’re not high up enough,” Rayla says nonchalantly. “Runaan says,” she pauses, and Callum remembers that she’d been raised by the other elf. He’s not the only one who has lost family these past few weeks. “Runaan said that he once lost a whole patrol to a flash flood when I was six. The rainstorms were really bad that year.”

“I don’t think we ever had rain like that back home,” Callum says.

“It’s kinda nice,” Rayla says, “Nothing but the sound of the rain, and you can hardly see five feet in front of you. You have to wait it out. No one travels in the rainstorms unless you’re mad.”

They end up staying the night beneath the outcropping and Rayla builds a fire to stave off the cold.

The temperature in Xadia drops sharply during the night in this region apparently and Callum shivers under a blanket, turning the cube over and over in his hands as Rayla sleeps.

He’s taken first watch and Zym huddles in his lap, purring quietly.

Callum thinks Zym is rather like a small scaly cat, moods shifting and ever likely to run off and do his own thing.

He wishes that Ezran was here. It’s not the same without his little brother.

Callum is so proud of him, but also worried. Being King is hard, and Dad had certainly said so many times before. Ezran is ten, that’s hardly old enough to be leading a kingdom.

Callum sighs, turning the cube over so that Star is pointing up.

“ _Inlustris,”_ he murmurs, and watches in awe as the tiny stars glimmer into being around him, the symbol lighting up.

Sky, he notices is also alight, probably due to Zym’s proximity. Callum shifts just a little, leaning towards Rayla, and watches as Moon begins to glow as well. Three sides of the cube are lit up and Callum hears a tiny clink that seems to echo far longer than it should.

He freezes, waiting for something to happen.

“Callum?” Rayla says groggily. “Was happening?”

“Nothing,” Callum tells her, “Um, go back to sleep.”

Rayla squints at him, suspicious. “I’m watching you,” she says before promptly passing out again.

Callum lets out a quiet sigh of relief, eyeing the cube which is no longer glowing. He shoves it back into his satchel, grabbing his sketchbook and charcoal.

It’s much safer to draw, he decides.

* * *

 

_The mirror is glowing, bright and brilliant in a way that Aaravos has never seen before._

_Has someone managed to figure out how to come through?_

_He doesn’t even have time to rise from his chair before someone is falling through the mirror to land with a thump on the floor, groaning quietly._

_Behind them the mirror returns to its solid black, the runes fading to soft gold. Aaravos knows instinctively, that wherever this person has come from, there is no going back. The fading echo of shattering glass that still rings in the air is proof enough._

_The person lifts their head, and Aaravos can see that it is a woman. Black hair is tied back from her pale face, brown eyes somewhat dazed. There is a small mole beneath her left eye._

_A **human.**_

_How in the high holy stars had she managed to get in?_

_She winces, blinking rapidly and gapes at the room, “Wow,” she breathes._

_Aaravos hasn’t heard another voice save his own in centuries. It is as if a spring wind has swept through the room, bringing clarity with it._

_Then she turns and sees him._

“ _Are you an elf?” she asks._

_Aaravos laughs. “Is there anything else I would be?” he asks, standing from his chair._

“ _You could be a dragon,” the woman says, staring at him._

_Aaravos supposes that he’s the first Startouch elf this human has seen and doesn’t fault her for staring. His people are rather different looking from the other elven races._

“ _I’d be a rather small dragon then,” Aaravos says, laughing softly._

_The woman grins, mischievous, “Or you could shape-shift. I’ve heard dragons can shape-shift.”_

_Aavaros walks closer, kneeling down beside her._

“ _I am an elf,” he says, extending a hand to pull her to her feet, “not a dragon.”_

“ _You’re not like any elf I’ve seen,” the woman says, and her grip is firm in his. He can feel a warrior’s callouses beneath his palm._

“ _Perhaps,” Aaravos says, “What is your name?”_

“ _Sarai,” she says, meeting his gaze squarely, “My name is Sarai.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should really just label this as ongoing, shouldn't I?
> 
> Feel free to bug me on tumblr @hazeleyedsparrow.


	4. Dreams beneath a moonlit sky

Callum doesn’t dream so vividly for a long time, and it’s during a rainstorm as the party is huddled together in the highest branches of one of the tallest trees that Callum has ever had the misfortune of climbing, that he dreams again, but it’s of a different time and place entirely.

_He’s a little boy again, and Mom is holding a small chest in her hands as they sit on the floor of her bedroom._

“ _This,” Mom says, “is one of my most precious possessions. And one day, Callum, it will be yours.”_

“ _What’s in it?” Callum asks._

_Mom opens the lid, the wood creaking and tilts the chest towards him._

_There is an old book inside, the leather cracked and faded with age, a necklace that looks like it has the horn of some great creature encased in silver strung along the chain, and two bracelets of wound gold and bronze wire._

“ _When I met your father,” Mom says, lifting the book from the chest, “I had this journal and in it, there are some of his drawings. I thought you’d like to see some of them.”_

“ _Can I?” Callum asks eagerly._

“ _Of course,” Mom says, opening the book, flipping through the pages. “Ah, here.”_

_She turns the book towards Callum._

_There’s a delicate sketch of herself, drawn in loving detail. Mom is smiling in the picture, the necklace from the chest resting around her throat. She’s wearing a strange robe that Callum can’t remember seeing anywhere in her room._

_And he’d know, he’s played hide and seek in her closet enough times._

“ _Do you think I’d be that good?” Callum asks, reaching out and turning the page gently._

_This is Mom’s precious book. He needs to be careful with it._

“ _I do,” Mom says, and her voice is warm if a little trembling as if she’s on the edge of tears._

_There are flowers on the next page, the colors faded, but the image is clear._

_Callum wishes he could draw that good._

_The opposite page has two hands intertwined._

_Mom reaches past Callum, touching the edge of one of the hands with trembling fingers._

“ _I’d forgotten he’d drawn that,” she says. “My left hand,” she gestures, “and his right.”_

“ _It must have been hard to draw with one hand,” Callum says. His father’s hand is turned slightly away, slender fingers interlacing with Mom’s._

“ _He didn’t,” Mom says with a watery laugh. “He had a very good memory.”_

“ _Like me!” Callum says excitedly._

“ _Yes, just like you,” Mom says.”You’re very smart, just like he was.”_

“ _He loved me, right, Mom?” Callum asks, hesitantly._

“ _Yes, Callum,” Mom says, and there are tears in her eyes, streaking down her cheeks. “He loved you very much. He loves you still, wherever his soul has gone to rest.”_

“ _Okay,” Callum says and sits up, setting the book carefully down and hugging her._

_Mom hugs him back, pressing a kiss into his hair. “Oh, my little star, you are going to be great one day.”_

“ _A great artist?” Callum asks._

“ _If that’s what you want to be,” Mom says with a soft chuckle. “If that’s what you want to be.”_

* * *

It’s much, much later when Aaravos wakes, and his mind is strangely clear.

“ _Sarai,”_ he murmurs, the name invoking a hundred memories to swirl through his mind, crystalline and bright.

How could he have forgotten her?

She had fallen through the mirror and she’d stayed with him for a time. A clever woman and a good friend.

How had she left this place?

He reaches for the answer and there is a sense of fear and anguish that echoes through his soul as he searches. There is a gray wall in his memories, a barricade that refuses to break beneath his will, clouding the time after her arrival.

He scowls, closing his eyes again and reaching out to where Viren is still imprisoned.

He might as well do something useful.

Viren has heard little news; being chained up in a dungeon doesn’t exactly lend one’s ears to information.

He does however, quietly ask if Aaravos might free him, at a moment when the guards are distracted enough with shift-change that they don’t notice their prisoner talking to himself.

“ _I’ll see what I can find,”_ Aaravos murmurs, his voice silky, _“I do have a library to comb through at my leisure, after all. Either way, I’ll let you know.”_

He withdraws, pulling his mind away from the star-worm, and rises from his chair to look through the bookshelves for something to assist his pawn. He’s halfway through a book on a variation of lockpicking spells, when something shifts out of the corner of his eye.

“ _I see you’ve returned, little najima,”_ Aaravos says softly, closing the book with a low thump, _“How may I aid you?”_

* * *

Callum shifts beneath Aaravos’s golden gaze, “Could you teach me a spell to stop bad dreams?”

He hasn’t dreamed of this place in weeks, but he’ll take it over nightmares any day as he’s been having them more and more as the party has moved further east.

“The Barren Plains,” Rayla had called the area they’d been passing through, making an odd gesture with her left hand, “where dark magic was first worked. It’s said that a human brutally murdered an Arch-mage, one of our most powerful sorcerers, and with his soul, cast the first dark spell the world had ever seen.”

“That’s awful,” Callum had said, shivering despite the fire they’d camped around for the night.

“Aye,” Rayla had said, and her face was unusually grave and solemn, “I don’t think any of us will sleep well until we’re past them. They say that on particularly windy nights, you can still hear the Arch-mage’s screams as the human killed him.”

Callum had quickly changed the subject after that, not wanting to dream of murders and dark magic.

Aaravos gives a soft hum, setting the book he’d been reading aside and turns towards him, hands folded together in a manner that reminds Callum of some of the courtiers he’d seen in meetings with Dad.

“ _You suffer from nightmares?”_ Aaravos asks, almost gliding across the floor, coming to a halt a foot away and kneeling, indicating that Callum should join him.

Callum sits. “Yeah, we’re pretty close to a place called the Barren Plains.”

There’s a shadow of an expression that crosses the Startouch elf’s face but it is there and gone so fast that Callum is uncertain that he’s seen anything at all.

“ _That place had another name once,”_ Aaravos says softly, _“It was called the Starlit Plains, but that was long ago, when the earth itself sang with magic, before the corruption of dark magic came.”_

“One of my friends, she’s a moonshadow elf,” Callum says, “she says that an Arch-mage was murdered there using dark magic, and that’s why none of us are sleeping well.”

“ _Dark magic leaves traces of itself behind,”_ Aaravos says, _“And the magic worked there was dark indeed. The very **first** spell of the Dark, and it tore free the heart of an Arch-mage.”_

Callum shudders at the visual those words conjure in his mind.

“ _There are spells to prevent dreaming entirely,”_ Aaravos says after a moment, _“but I believe that you would still wish to speak with me, correct?”_

“Yeah,” Callum says. There are many questions that burn on his tongue but he waits; there will be time later to ask. The nightmares are a more pressing matter.

“ _Then we will just have to find a way to combat the nightmares,”_ Aaravos says, looking thoughtful, waving a hand and Callum watches as a book topples off the shelf and into the elf’s outstretched hand.

He leafs through it for a moment, _“Dreams are the realms of the Stars, and fall under their governance. If you are to cast a spell to prevent ill dreams then it would be wise to cast it at night before you fall asleep. In moonlight would be best.”_

“Okay,” Callum says. “How do I do that?”

Aaravos looks up from the book. _“It works best if you have a focus to attach the spell to, such as a pendant or ring. Items with personal importance work better than those that have none.”_

Callum frowns. He doesn’t have any rings and the only pendant he owns was his mother’s. A gift from Callum’s birth father, a strange jagged horn clasped in silver on a chain. Callum had packed it into his satchel before going looking for Ezran. It’s the only connection he has left to his birth father and Mom.

“ _What is wrong, little najima?”_ Aaravos asks, and when Callum looks, the elf is studying him, face unreadable.

“The only pendant I have is Mom’s,” Callum says. “I don’t want to lose it.”

“ _The spell will not consume the pendant,”_ Aaravos tells him, _“Merely add a layer of protection upon it. If you are wearing it, you will not have nightmares.”_

“It won’t damage it at all?” Callum asks.

“ _No. It will be the same after you cast the spell as before, save the enchantment.”_

Callum lets out a sigh of relief. “That’s good. What’s the spell?”

“ _Ne tenebris somniorum,”_ Aaravos says.

Callum sounds out the phrase carefully. He wants to get this right.

Aaravos smiles at him. _“Correct. Now, the actual casting requires that you hold the pendant in the moonlight, repeating the incantation until you feel the magic settle.”_

“How do I know it’s settled?” Callum asks. “Also, is there like a magic guide for beginners? Because there’s a lot I don’t know yet.”

Aaravos laughs. _“_ _The settling of magic is something that one develops an instinct for over time._ _It can be compared to knowing when a cup is full or when a fruit is ripe.”_

“So it would feel heavier, when the spell is complete?” Callum guesses.

“ _In a manner of speaking, yes,”_ Aaravos says.

“That’s rather unhelpful,” Callum says.

“ _You are unlike anything we elves have seen before,”_ Aaravos says, _“Do you teach a fish to swim or a bird to fly? Magic is the nature of elves, innate, instinctive, tied to our very souls. We learn from birth how to wield it. You are operating on a tilted scale already by merely being born with human blood. But you have talent and I think you will one day cast spells like a master.”_

“Thanks, I think,” Callum says.

“ _Now,”_ Aaravos says, _“When last we spoke, I believe we were discussing the Primal Sources.”_

“We talked about the Stars,” Callum says.

Aaravos nods, _“Then we will next speak of the Moon, and its aspects...”_


	5. The Stars above, the Earth below

Callum wakes to the sound of rain pattering against the roof of the small cave they’re sheltering in.

“Morning,” Rayla says, hiding a yawn behind one hand.

“Morning,” Callum says groggily. “How much farther until we’re past this place?”

“Too far,” Rayla groans, rubbing at her eyes. Zym makes a noise of agreement, hiding his face under a wing. The dragon looks tired too, yawning widely.

Like Callum, Rayla’s begun to develop dark circles beneath her eyes. No one has been getting much sleep.

“Have I mentioned that I’m really glad you don’t do dark magic,” Rayla says, “Cause I get the feeling we’d be worse off if you were.”

“You think the nightmares would be worse,” Callum says flatly.

“Aye,” Rayla says with a shudder.

“What do you dream about?” Callum asks.

“Water,” Rayla says, and there is a kind of horror in her gaze that makes Callum wish he hadn’t asked at all. “You?”

“I dreamed I was on a cliff, and I had to do something horrible,” Callum whispers. He can still see it, the moon rising high above him, glinting off silvery horns and hear the awful sound of a voice raised in terrible pain, an agony so great that it would shake the stars in their heavens.

Rayla says nothing, but her mouth firms into a thin line. “We have got to get past this place.”

Zym whines, hopping into Rayla’s lap, nudging at her shoulder.

“Yeah, I know,” she says, patting his head. “I’m tired of the dreams too.”

It’s two nights later, when Callum decides to cast the spell to keep nightmares away. There’s been no moon that he can see before then.

Zym eyes him curiously and Callum lays a finger to his lips. “It’s just something I learned to keep the nightmares away,” he whispers. “I want to see if it works first.”

He carries Mom’s pendant out into the moonlight that pools silver-white onto the ground outside their camp, the moon rising full, a brilliant white sphere hanging in the ebony sky.

“ _Ne tenebris somniorum,”_ Callum whispers, and feels the pendant grow warm in his hands, a dim glow about the jagged horn. “ _Ne tenebris somniorum,”_ he repeats, over and over, like Aaravos had said to.

It’s not so much a weight in his hands that tells him that the spell is complete, but a sense of quiet serenity that settles over him, a warmth that reminds him of Mom’s hugs, and strangely enough of Aaravos’s hugs as well.

He sits there in the moonlight for a long time after, turning the pendant in his hands, admiring the craftsmanship.

Mom had said that his birth father had made it for her in place of a wedding ring.

Callum wonders what kind of creature he had taken the horn from.

Then there is a tap on his shoulder and Callum shrieks, almost dropping the pendant in surprise.

Rayla’s laughter shatters the night, and Callum glares at where he thinks she is, given that he can’t really see _where_ she is. It is the full moon after all and moonshadow elves are nigh impossible to see beneath its light, as he learned.

“You should have seen your face!” Rayla howls. “Oh, that was good!”

“Geez Rayla!” Callum hisses, his heart thudding in his chest, almost painful. He’s pretty sure she scared a few years off his lifespan.

“Gotta get my fun somewhere,” Rayla says and the ground beside him shifts slightly as Callum thinks she’s sat down. “You didn’t wake me for my watch.”

“Thought you could get some sleep,” Callum says.

“Mmm,” Rayla says. “Whatcha got there?”

“It’s my mom’s,” Callum says quietly. “My birth dad gave it to her as a wedding present. I inherited it when she died.”

Rayla is quiet. “Did you know him well? Your birth dad, I mean?”

“No,” Callum says, “Mom said he died before I was born. She said that he’d protected her and me, but died in the process. She didn’t like to talk about it.”

Callum doesn’t even know his father’s name.

“Callum...” Rayla says softly and pauses. “Umm...you’ve got...um...diamonds on your face...”

“What?” Callum asks.

“Diamonds,” Rayla whispers and then her fingers are poking his face, a faint pressure across his cheekbones. “Right there.”

She holds up a mirror that seems to float midair.

And across his cheekbones, in the light of the full moon, white diamonds glow.

* * *

Aaravos turns another page of his book, reading before the roaring hearth. There are many spells that he can teach Callum, but he wants to find simpler ones, beginner’s as it were.

Building a...what had he called it? A magic guide for beginners?

Yes, that was it.

Aaravos laughs softly at the memory.

Callum is quite eager to learn, to devour any knowledge he can get his hands on.

He’s rather like Elarion in that regard, Aaravos thinks. _Oh so eager to learn._

But Aaravos remembers too well how that desire for knowledge led Elarion to darkness, to rip his heart from his chest in her pursuit for power, leaving him to die.

 _I’m sorry,_ she had whispered and fled.

It had been another elf who had found him, who had saved his life...though it had been many long months before he could stand and even then it was before a council of elves, who had found him guilty for teaching Primal magic to humans, for aiding, however unknowingly, in the creation of dark magic.

Aaravos pushes aside those dark memories, and focuses on compiling a list of simple spells for Callum.

He already knows two Primal spells for Stars, one for Sky…

Aaravos hums thoughtfully, perhaps one for the Moon, as they had been discussing the Primal Source the night before.

He considers the vast array of spells he knows... _Nos celare,_ a spell to conceal oneself and allies if needed. Callum had said he and his friend were traveling.

The ability to hide while on the move is invaluable, especially when moving through what is more or less enemy territory.

There is the scuff of boots against stone, and Aaravos looks up to find Callum standing there, eyes wide.

Across his face, beneath his bright green eyes, stars blaze an iridescent white.

“Help?” Callum whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to scream at me on tumblr @hazeleyedsparrow.


	6. Words left unspoken

Aaravos has rarely been at a loss for words. Indeed, throughout his admittedly long lifetime, there has only been about four such occasions. But now, staring at this young mage, he revises that count.

“ _Sihr,”_ the name slips from Aaravos’s lips without his permission and Callum twitches. _“Callum,”_ Aaravos corrects himself, _“Come, sit,”_ and he beckons the child to sit beside him.

“What am I?” Callum rasps, dropping to his knees next to Aaravos. There is the gleam of a chain around his neck, dipping below the red scarf Callum has worn every time he’s appeared in the tower. Aaravos cannot see the pendant itself, but guesses that it’s the one Callum had mentioned before, the only thing Callum has left of his mother.

“ _You are a being this world has not seen before now,”_ Aaravos says, _“A half-elf.”_

And unbidden, a memory springs to mind, his own voice soft and nearly unfamiliar, _ **“There has not been a half-elf child that has walked this world before. They will something new, something bright and beautiful...”**_

It is a warm memory, half-lit in the soft light of a morning’s dawn, the sensation of silken cloth beneath his fingertips and a rush of joy unlike anything he’s ever known swelling in his heart...and a desperate determination flaring to life beneath that joy.

And Callum is more than just a half-elf...he’s half _startouch_ elf.

Aaravos can see that now, another piece of the puzzle that is Callum’s heritage clicking into place. Aaravos could almost laugh at the strangeness of fate’s weave. That a child of human and startouch elf heritage would find him, the so called greatest traitor in their people’s history, and become a pupil of magic to him…

But there’s something else, something else that Aaravos cannot yet grasp, something so terribly simple, that lies just within his grasp and somehow just outside it,and the chains that have become threaded so insidiously within his own magic, that bind his memories, tighten as he considers Callum, sending agony through his skull like a lance.

“My dad was an elf,” Callum says quietly, almost dazedly as Aaravos bites back a hiss of pain. “No wonder Mom didn’t talk about him.”

“ _Your mother no doubt feared for your safety,”_ Aaravos says, _“Elves are not looked kindly upon by humans and vice versa. Perhaps she thought you were safer in your ignorance.”_

“Well,” Callum says, and there are tears in the boy’s eyes, “I know now.”

Aaravos reaches out, pulling Callum into a hug, tucking the boy’s head under his chin, an embrace that feels almost instinctual, as natural as the movement of stars about the night sky.

In his arms, Callum is crying quietly, from grief or worry, Aavaros cannot tell, so he offers comfort as best he can, patting his back gently, murmuring soft words of assurance.

* * *

 

“ _Callum,”_ Aaravos says softly some time after Callum’s managed to stop crying.

_**His father was an elf.** _

It’s a revelation that has turned his world on its edge, Callum thinks he’s allowed a little time to cry over the loss of a father he’d never even got to know.

“What?” he asks, and his voice is a rasp.

“ _Would you like me to tell you about your markings?”_ Aaravos asks.

“Why do I have them?” Callum asks, twisting in Aaravos’s embrace to look at the elf, “I haven’t had them before.”

“ _Your markings are...reactions to magic,”_ Aaravos says, “ _You haven’t used magic so frequently before now, yes?”_

Callum nods slowly. “I only just started using it about...a month ago, I think.”

“ _Elves are **made** of magic, and this,” _Aaravos explains, and his hands come up, tilting Callum’s face, brushing over the markings with his thumbs, _“is a gift from your father. A Startouch elf, like myself, for only we shine so beneath the moon and stars, reflecting the magic that we were born with.”_

Callum sniffs, wiping away tears. “Really?”

It makes him feel a bit better about them, frightening as it was to see his own face reflected back at him with such alien markings. Another link to his birth father.

“ _Really,”_ Aaravos says and his hands drop away. _“I wouldn’t be surprised if they began to glow whenever you cast after this.”_

Callum can feel the blood drain from his face. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

“ _What is it?”_

“No one else knows that I’m half-elf,” Callum says, “Not Ez, not Rayla, no one.”

Aaravos makes a soft hum.

“ _Do you think they will reject you for such heritage?”_

“Well, Ez can talk to animals and he knows I can cast magic. We don’t have the same father but Ez is my little brother...I...he wouldn’t reject me...” Callum says, hoping, praying that he is right, “and Rayla is an elf, so...”  
_“It is rather unlikely then,”_ Aaravos says, _“_ _But if you wish to hide them, you may use a spell of concealment, and tie it to something you wear to keep the markings hidden.”_

“Could I layer spells?” Callum asks, “I’ve already enchanted this,” he fishes out the pendant and the silver clasped horn gleams in the moonlight that drifts down through one of the many high windows that adorn the tower’s walls.

Aaravos makes a sound that could be a gasp, and pale, sparkling fingers reach out towards the horn but do not touch it.

“ _It is possible,”_ Aaravos murmurs. _“That is your mother’s pendant, yes?”_

“Yeah,” Callum says, wondering at the gentle tone in the elf’s voice.

“ _Your father truly loved your mother,”_ Aaravos says softly, _“Elves do not wear rings as you humans do, but take a piece of their own horns and fashion it into a pendant to give to their beloved. You carry your father’s horn with you, Callum. It is blessed with protective magic, I can sense that much.”_

Callum stares at the horn. His _father’s_ horn.

“What kind of protective magic?” Callum asks, curious.

“ _A simple blessing,”_ Aaravos says, _“May I examine it?”_

He gestures towards the horn.

Callum settles the horn into the elf’s palm.

Aaravos smiles. _“Thank you,”_ he murmurs, before closing his eyes and going completely still.

If Callum couldn’t see him breathing, he would have thought Aaravos a statute.

Callum carefully tilts his head to look at Aaravos’s horns while the other mage is busy. He hasn’t had too much time to study them before, and he’d thought it might be rude to stare at them.

The horns on Aaravos’s head are different from Rayla’s, branching in a few places. One horn has a thin dark line across it, something that reminds Callum of a scar. Could horns scar? Would it be rude to ask about it?

Aaravos hums softly and Callum quickly returns his gaze to the pendant.

“ _A blessing of well-being,”_ Aaravos says quietly, opening his eyes. _“Given in faith and love, a promise of days to come.”_

He returns the pendant to Callum’s hand, folding his fingers about it. _“The spell you will need, if you wish to hide your markings when you cast is this. Celare hereditatem meam.”_

Callum repeats the words, memorizing them.

“ _It is a spell of the Moon, and is strongest when first cast beneath the full moon,”_ Aaravos says.

“Can you teach me a spell for the other Sources too?” Callum asks, tucking the pendant back beneath his scarf and carefully extracting himself from Aaravos’s embrace to sit on the floor in front of the elf.

Aaravos seems to consider the request, tilting his head, _“In time, yes. One must understand each source in turn, before attempting their respective spells. Else disaster will ensue. Knowledge is to be tempered with reason, little najima.”_

“You sound like Mom,” Callum says, because Mom always had said that you must think before you act.

“ _Do I?”_ Aaravos asks. _“How so?”_

“Mom always said that I should think about what I wanted to do and if it would affect other people before doing it. Like if I went and stole jelly tarts from the kitchen or rearranged the books on the library shelves to annoy Lord Viren,” Callum says. “To be fair, he wasn’t _always_ a colossal jerk...at least I don’t think he was. I could be remembering that wrong...”

Aaravos chuckles. _“She sounds like a smart woman, your mother.”_

“Yeah,” Callum says, grinning. “She was.”

* * *

 

When Callum smiles, it is a mirror to his mother’s own smile, bright and cheerful.

Aaravos remembers that now, remembers Sarai’s warm laugh and mischievous energy that she brought with her...and a memory crashes through his mind like a tidal wave-

“ _ **And you are alone no longer, my love,” Sarai murmurs and in the memory her eyes are soft and bright, a quiet joy shining bright within them.**_

“ _ **No,” Aaravos says, and the contentment that he feels seems almost alien, the words warm and sweet on his lips, like honey, “I have you.”**_

“ _ **You always will,” Sarai says. “No matter the time and worlds between us.”-**_

Something must show on Aaravos’s face, because the next thing he knows, Callum is before him, waving a hand in front of his eyes.

“Aaravos?” he asks, “you okay?”

“ _I...don’t know,”_ Aaravos says, blinking. He and Sarai...were...lovers? No, that’s...he reaches out again, seeking truth from the stars, praying that this time he can find it, firm and solid as the earth below.

And finds it, unhindered by pain.

They had been lovers, and so devoted to one another that the agony of her death seems redoubled now, shaking him to his shattered core. He remembers, there is a silver torc imbued with the same magics as Sarai’s pendant, made by her own hands and set about his neck by her slender fingers. What had happened to it?

And then there is Callum...Aaravos inhales sharply, could the child _be_ …but sickening, stabbing pain overwhelms him, vision blurring and he lurches sideways, barely managing to catch himself before he can topple to the floor.

“Um, okay,” Callum’s worried voice says, “Um, just breathe. I’m… I’m going to try something.”

Aaravos wants to say something against it, that the pain will pass in time; he doesn’t want Callum to attempt a spell beyond his ken, beyond his skills, but he can’t get the words out from behind the pain that is attempting to strangle him.

Callum is muttering and then there is icy cold that spreads from his hands, pressed against Aaravos’s temples, flooding up to reach even his horns.

Aaravos tries to speak, realizing too late just what Callum has managed to do, but there is nothing, no words that escape his lips.

Callum’s mouth is moving but Aaravos can’t hear him.

He is **Silenced**.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to scream at me on tumblr @hazeleyedsparrow.


	7. And such a precious gift

Callum watches as Aaravos’s mouth opens, no words escaping the elf, golden eyes widening. The look of anguished pain is gone, replaced by shock and dawning realization.

“Oh shit,” Callum breathes, and suddenly realizes that he can’t hear _himself_ either.

Aaravos raises one eyebrow, a silent _You think?_ clear on his face.

Then slender fingers are twisting into familiar signs, A _re you alright?_ Aaravos asks.

 _I can’t hear,_ Callum says, wondering just when Aaravos had learned to sign. Some signs appear to have been slightly modified as elves only have four fingers to human’s five.

 _Neither can I,_ says Aaravos, _nor do I think I can speak._

Callum winces. _I’m sorry. I only wanted to help._

Aaravos seems to sigh. _I know._

 _As it is,_ Aaravos continues, _this may wear off. It may be temporary._

 _I didn’t mean to...do whatever this is,_ Callum says, gesturing helplessly.

 _I know._ Aaravos says again and adds, _It’s actually rather impressive._ He offers Callum a wry smile. _You are quite powerful, little najima._

It’s strange seeing the endearment finger-spelled rather than the fluid movements that make up most signs.

 _I’m sorry,_ Callum says again. _How do we fix this?_

 _First, what was your intention_ _in_ _cast_ _ing_ _the spell?_ Aaravos asks. _We’ll go from there._

 _I_ _just wanted to take away the pain,_ Callum says after taking a moment to decipher just what the elf is trying to say. _I tried to do what I did last time._

 _With the ice?_ Aaravos asks.

 _Yes,_ Callum says, and Aaravos frowns.

 _I do not know if that would have quite worked as you intended, Callum,_ Aaravos says, _Though your spell has had...interesting consequences…_

If losing one’s hearing and voice is interesting, Callum wonders what Aaravos finds hilarious. Maybe all elves have strange senses of humor…Rayla certainly does.

 _You cast with a stronger intention than before,_ Aaravos continues, and there is warm pride in his eyes as he watches Callum. _You’ve managed to do something that I have been unable to do for years._

 _And what’s that?_ Callum asks.

 _You took away the fog,_ Aaravos says and Callum isn’t imagining it; there are tears in the elf’s eyes, trickles of starlight that flow down his dark face. _You gave me back a precious gift I did not even know I had, little najima._

 _But we can’t speak or hear,_ Callum says, even as he smiles at Aaravos’s evident joy. _I don’t know if that’s an equal trade._

 _It is trivial compared to this,_ Aaravos says, brushing his tears away. _And think of it as a lesson in patience._

Callum winces again.

 _What you have done, Callum,_ Aaravos says, and there is a strange hesitancy now to the way the elf spells his name, fingers trembling. _Is re-created a spell that was used by my people in teaching. We use it so that a child may learn to cast without words, using only their will to guide their magic._

 _You cast without words?_ Callum asks.

 _Yes, Sihr,_ Aaravos says, and again there is that shiver down Callum’s spine at the word.

 _What is that word?_ Callum asks. _You used it earlier._

 _It means...magic,_ Aaravos says. _It is the name that your father might have given you upon your birth. We divine our children’s names from the stars themselves and though your mother, Sarai, named you Callum, Sihr, is the name that speaks to your soul._

 _You divined my name?_ Callum asks. _Why?_

 _I did not divine it,_ Aaravos says, shaking his head, _It came to me while I dreamed._

The name that speaks to his soul...Callum isn’t sure if he quite likes the feeling the spoken or signed name gives him. It’s as if someone is walking over his grave.

Something must show on Callum’s face, for Aaravos signs, _Forgive me, I do not mean to use a name that makes you uncomfortable, little one._

 _Is there a way to make it...not feel weird?_ Callum asks. _Like someone is not walking over my grave?_

Aaravos frowns, clearly mulling something over in his mind.

 _I am...unsure, little najima,_ Aaravos says, _I will try if you wish me to._

Callum considers it for a moment. _Maybe after we’ve solved,_ he waves a hand between them, _this?_

* * *

 

Everything is crystalline and clear in Aaravos’s mind, bright and vivid as a summer’s dawn. And oh, he _remembers._

And before him, with bright green eyes and glittering star-marks, is his _son._ His _child_.

There is a fierce protectiveness that has begun to well up inside him, scorching as dragon’s fire. He will see his child safe.

But how could he even begin to tell Callum the truth? How could he tell him why Sarai had thought him dead? Callum doesn’t even know the name that Aaravos would have given him, the knowledge of its very existence strangely alien to the half-elf child. And why did it jar Callum so to hear it spoken? Or signed even?

Aaravos muses over the problem, then pushes it aside as Callum had asked him to. Right now _,_ the more pressing issue is that of removing the Silence.

Well, Aaravos thinks with a wry smile, _he_ could just do that himself now. Callum has managed to destroy the chains that wove so insidiously through Aaravos’s magic, unlocking that which was long held at bay. Aaravos may be missing the heart of his power still, sunken into the depths of the ocean with his lost apprentice, but he has so much _more_ now.

He begins weaving together symbols, thinking back to his own childhood so very long ago, finding the proper runes, a wisp of memory coming back to him as he does.

“ _ **Remember youngling, it’s all in the wrists. You must twist just so to make your lines neat or your spells shall ever go awry. Shaky lines makes for ill spellwork, remember that now.”**_

Aaravos pushes power through the symbols, focusing on Callum, on his bloodline and twisting magic through that connection.

The air shivers. Blood connections make spells stronger, which is no doubt why Callum’s spell had done far more than he’d intended.

Something akin to pride thrums through him, delight at this child who has defied the odds to learn magic, with a power to rattle the stars in their very heavens. Aaravos can sense it, the deep well of magic that Callum carries within him, the _power_ that roils like the sea in a storm, pure and bright as any star.

There is an audible snap and Aaravos feels the Silence shatter like broken glass, allowing words and sound to come once more.

* * *

 

“ _Ah,”_ Aaravos sighs, and Callum realizes that he can hear him again. _“That’s better.”_

“How did you-?” Callum asks.

Aaravos chuckles, and the sound is warm and fond. _“I cast a dispelling of the Silence,”_ he explains. _“Here, let me show you again,”_ he draws the symbols slower, and Callum etches them into his memory, noting each curve as Aaravos draws them. _“If you cast the Silence again, on accident or otherwise,”_ Aaravos says, _“_ _This will undo it.”_

“Okay,” Callum says, something tense uncoiling in his chest that he hadn’t even known was there. If he messed up again, he could fix it. He knew _how_ to fix it. “Sorry about...that,” he apologizes again.

“ _Even the most powerful of Archmages was once a small child, filled with wonder and little restraint,”_ Aaravos says, smiling ruefully. _“Patience comes with time, Callum.”_

Callum opens his mouth to ask a question and yawns widely instead.

“ _You should rest, little najima,”_ Aaravos murmurs. _“I will still be here to talk with you later. You have cast powerful magic this night and need to rest fully.”_

“I mean, I’m technically asleep alread-”

Callum jolts awake as icy water splashes his face.

“What the-!” he sputters as he sits up, wiping the water away.

“Finally!” Rayla says, corking the waterskin and tossing it back onto her bedroll. “You’ve been out for ages! I tried everything to get you up, yelling in your ear, poking you in the ribs, I even got Zym to fan you with his wings. If this didn’t work, I was about ready to dunk you in the pond.”

Zym chirps from beside Rayla, blinking wide eyes and nosing at Callum’s boots.

Callum takes a deep breath, wincing. So that was why his ribs hurt a bit, she must have been poking a while. “Sorry,” he says. “It was...just a bit shocking to...see that...”

“The diamonds, you mean?” Rayla asks, crouching beside him, eyes intent and surprisingly serious.

“Yeah,” Callum says, and brushes back his hair, revealing his ears. “My dad was an elf. I’m only half-human.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, I know it's been a while since the last update. I was recently hospitalized and we're still trying to figure out if it's anything serious so updates are going to be on a back burner until that's settled.  
> I'm going to try for a twice a month update schedule for this, but if that doesn't pan out we'll go to a monthly schedule.  
> Thank you all for your kind comments, they give me the drive to keep going.  
> Edit: Been out of the hospital for a bit, we've got follow-up with a doctor to figure stuff out. Doing pretty okay at the moment. Lots of rest. Thank you all for the kind words and concern.


	8. The secrets we hold in our hearts

Rayla stares at him for a long moment, studying him, lavender eyes flicking from his ears to his face and back again, lips pursed as she thinks. Then she settles back on her heels and nods, “Okay.”

“O-kay?” Callum asks, confused. “You’re not mad I hid it from you?”

“Oh, I am,” Rayla says. “We’re friends and friends _don’t_ keep secrets from each other, yeah? _But—_ I know that everyone’s got secrets,” Rayla continues. “And sometimes it’s safer if we keep them close to our hearts,” she places one hand over her own heart.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, Rayla,” Callum says earnestly. “It’s only something I recently found out myself and...I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

Rayla mulls the words over. “Well, you’ve told me now, and that’s that,” she says firmly. “Anything _else_ I need to know?”

“Ummm,” Callum says, “I’ve been having dreams of someone teaching me magic,” he squeaks, flushing under the piercing look Rayla is giving him.

“No dark magic?” Rayla asks.

“No dark magic. Um, he’s an elf,” Callum says.

Rayla frowns. “Callum...are you sure he’s real? Dreams can be strange and we’ve both not slept well in a while.”

“He’s real,” Callum insists, “and besides, I can do the spells he taught me! Look,” he racks his brains for the simplest spell he knows. “Um, _Inlustris!”_

Tiny stars appear around them, glittering in the pre-dawn darkness.

“That’s...something,” Rayla says, tone awed as she passes one hand through the glittering stars, “Alright, and he’s just teaching you magic?”

“Yeah. He’s a Startouch elf, at least, he says he is, and...my dad was a Startouch elf,” Callum says softly, “I’ve never seen an elf like that looks like him before. Like a part of the night sky, stars on his skin and everything.”

“That...sounds like a Startouch elf,” Rayla says cautiously, “at least like the stories my Uncle Tinker used to tell me when I was a wee little one.”

“So you don’t think I’m crazy?” Callum asks.

“I think we’re all a little sleep deprived and therefore somewhat crazy already, but I think you’re not _completely_ crazy,” Rayla concedes. “And we haven’t met anyone else who could have taught you any new magic. So...I believe you.”

Callum flops back onto the ground with a sigh of relief. “Thank goodness.”

“Callum,” Rayla says, “Does Ezran know, about your birth dad?”

Callum shakes his head. “Not yet.” He bites his lip, thinking of his little brother who now would bear the weight of a kingdom across his young shoulders.

“Callum,” Rayla says again, and Callum looks up at her as the rising sun begins to creep over the horizon behind her, making her features soft and warm, “Ezran is one of the nicest people I’ve ever had the good fortune to meet. He’s your brother, and family sticks together.” Her mouth twists in a wry smile. “Even through tough situations like this.”

“Thanks, Rayla,” Callum says, relieved, then asks,“You have an uncle named Tinker?”

“Well, I couldn’t pronounce his name when I was little and he was a tinker by trade so I just called him Tinker, and the name stuck,” Rayla says, flushing as she begins digging through her pack for breakfast.

“I called Aunt Amaya, Aya for the first few years according to Mom,” Callum offers. “Couldn’t manage the letter m for a while.”

Rayla snorts, half-hiding her grin as she pulls out a handful of dried jerky, handing over a piece to Callum and tossing another to Zym, who gnaws on it with little, high-pitched squeaks.

“You know,” Rayla says around her mouthful of jerky, “Startouch elves are rare even in Xadia. No one’s seen or heard from them in over a thousand years.”

“My teacher...he says that they are fewer in number now, so that checks out,” Callum says.

“So, you’re half Startouch elf and half human,” Rayla says. “Interesting combination, that. It might help us when we get to the Dragon Queen. They might not immediately want to throw you in a jail cell.”

“Because I’m not entirely human,” Callum guesses.

“Aye,” Rayla agrees. “No idea on how everyone will react, but...”

“It’s a start,” Callum says.

Rayla nods, turning to pack up camp. “Come on, we should be almost out of the plains by nightfall.”

“That’d be great,” Callum says. Zym chirps agreement, flapping his wings enthusiastically, sending the little Dragon Prince spinning through the air.

Callum laughs at the sight of the dragon making aerial loops, tongue hanging out the side of his snout.

Relief at Rayla’s acceptance blooms like a flower in his heart, warm and comforting.

There’s hope yet.

* * *

Aaravos won’t deny being startled by Callum’s sudden disappearance but reaching out with his magic, he finds his son well, if a little confused by his sudden awakening. Apparently, his companion had woken him if the scene Aaravos views is any indication.

Satisfied that Callum is unharmed, Aaravos withdraws to the tower proper; Callum is allowed his privacy and Aaravos won’t intrude any more than he has to.

Sitting before the cold hearth, Aaravos lets the weight of his memories, shrouded no longer, pull him down into their depths.

“ **Where has your mind wandered, Aaravos?” Sarai’s voice is soft, curious as she wanders over to him, one slim hand reaching up to touch his cheek, her skin warm against his.**

“ ** _Far afield, where the stars once met the horizon, zahrati,”_ Aaravos murmurs. _“The past.”_**

“ **Could you tell me about it?” Sarai asks.**

“ ** _It is a long story, Sarai,”_ Aaravos says.**

“ **We have plenty of time,”** **Sarai replies,** **leaning close, resting her head against his shoulder, allowing her arms to drop and curl around his waist.**

**Aaravos hums softly and settles his own hands at the small of Sarai’s back, a gentle pressure against her spine.**

“ _ **Once,”**_ **Aaravos says, his gaze distant** **, and speaks aloud the words he has not spoken in centuries, the only story that he has not yet shared with her. The story of Elarion, and the birth of Dark magic. “ _when the world was young...”_**

**-**

**Sarai’s spear clanks against Aaravos’s battlestaff, and Sarai grumbles something under her breath, pushing Aaravos back towards the door to the garden. Sparring is the norm when she gets bored with reading and Aaravos is happy to indulge her. It gives him a chance to stretch old muscles and learn new things.**

“ **You’re cheating, love,” Sarai huffs.**

**“ _Am I?”_ Aaravos asks, smiling widely, _“Is using my Stars-given talents so wrong, zahrati?”_**

**Sarai narrows her eyes at him, “Yes, yes it is. Especially when you give me that look.”**

“ _ **What look?”**_ **Aaravos asks coyly.**

“ **You know what look,” Sarai says, and lunges with a cry of triumph, knocking Aaravos to the ground with the butt of her spear shaft and touching its point ever so gently to his throat.**

“ **I win,” she says simply.**

“ _ **Indeed,”**_ **Aaravos** **rasps. Stars, he is old if so short a fall can wind him.**

**Sarai kneels beside him. “You alright?”**

**“ _A bit winded,”_ he admits, _“You fight well, Sarai.”_**

**“You held your own as best you could,” Sarai says with a grin and leans down to kiss him.**

**-**

“ **My joy is your joy, my sorrows are your sorrows,” Sarai says, and there are bright tears in her eyes as she speaks the marriage words of old. “All that I have is yours, and all that I am, I share with you. And when the twilight of our lives should come upon us, I will not fear it for I walk with your heart beside mine, alone no longer.”**

**In her shaking hands, the silver torc gleams as she places it around Aaravos’s throat, the warmth of the blessing filling Aaravos with a joy unlike anything he’s ever known.**

**And around her neck, the horned pendant glows with starlight.**

**-**

**For the first time in a long time, Aaravos feels hope. He will find a way out of this prison. He will not condemn his child to a life within this cell. And then, he finds it, a loophole, a possibility that Sarai and their child could use.**

**He breathes a sigh of relief as Sarai makes the crossing and then she turns, looking to him. “Ready?” she calls, her face beautiful in the glimmering light of the opened portal. Aaravos nods, already striding towards it. It will be a rough crossing, he knows, and the portal won’t last long.**

**He is almost through, his hands touching Sarai’s, when the air shudders. Aaravos looks up, gasping at the sight of the wards beginning to implode, a failsafe against any escape attempt, that are now detonating with all the force of a dragon’s fiery breath.**

**There is no time, and Aaravos makes his choice. He will shield Sarai and their child and take the force of the blast himself.**

**It is a split-second decision, and then he slams into the side of the tower, crumpling, the last sound he hears Sarai’s desperate scream as the portal slams shut upon a future that could never have been his.**

-

There is a high, keening sound that Aaravos can hear, and it takes him a moment to realize that it’s coming from him, building into a wail of grief that shatters the glass windows.

It cracks the stones, makes the air tremble with its power and Stars above, how Aaravos _grieves_. His son has grown up without him, his beautiful, clever wife lies still and cold within a tomb of ancient heroes, lost to him until he himself passes into the next life.

Callum doesn’t even know his _name,_ the very sound of its truth makes the child uncomfortable, an intrinsic part of his being that speaks to his heart.

So Aaravos bows his head and weeps, vowing to do everything in his power to raise his son to be the shining, brilliant mage he knows he can be. He can do that much for Sarai’s sake.

* * *

Callum watches Zym hover as they make camp for the night. True to Rayla’s prediction, they’re almost at the edge of the Plains.

“I’ll take first watch,” Rayla says, and Callum nods, curling beside their fire and closing his eyes.

When he opens his eyes again, it is to the tower in ruins.

The windows are shattered, the floor cracked, part of the roof is missing and through the hole, Callum can see stars glittering overhead.

And in the middle of it all, is Aaravos, kneeling atop the cracked circle of Primal symbols. His shoulders are shaking and the only sound is that of faint sobs.

“Aaravos?” Callum calls, “Are you okay?”

Aaravos gives a great shuddering sigh and shakes his head. Broken glass litters the ground around him. Callum steps cautiously over it, taking care as he kneels beside Aaravos.

“Can I help?” Callum asks.

Aaravos sighs and when next he speaks, his voice is raspy as if he’s been crying a long time. _“No, little one. I grieve that which was lost to me. The years cannot be turned back and I must bear the weight of_ _them_ _regardless.”_

“I’m sorry,” Callum says, though he doesn’t know who or what the elf is grieving.

“ _I remember now,”_ Aaravos murmurs. _“I was wed once, to a young woman who was kind and fierce. And I remember that she was lost to me.”_

“You were married?”

“ _Once,”_ Aaravos says, and he looks as if he is going to cry again, _“A long time ago. She rests among the stars now, and I will meet her again when my time has ended. I forgot her, how could I have forgotten her? She was like spring, sweeping away the darkness of winter. She brought such **hope** with her and then I lost her. Lost everything.”_

Callum hugs him. “I’m sorry, Aaravos.”

Aaravos clings to him, shaking again with sobs, murmuring words in elvish that Callum cannot yet understand. It’s a long time before Aaravos is still.

“ _Forgive me, little najima,”_ Aaravos says, and his voice is worn and tired, _“I should have been more...composed.”_

“It’s okay. My Aunt Amaya says that grief does strange things to people,” Callum says. “I know after Mom died...I would wander around in her rooms and I’d watch the door, and I’d wait, because she could be coming back, you know. And I wanted to be there, to welcome her home. Because she had to be coming back-” Callum chokes on the words.

Aaravos hugs him, tight and comforting, _“_ _Your aunt sounds very wise, Callum.”_

“She has a wicked sense of humor,” Callum adds. “And she’s strict.”

“ _Sometimes,”_ Aaravos says slowly, _“Parents..._ _and aunts..._ _must be strict with their children, so that they may learn and grow.”_

“Doesn’t mean we have to like it,” Callum says and Aaravos chuckles, a watery sound that is very out of place coming from the tall and elegant elf.

“ _Very true,”_ Aaravos says and he brushes away the last of his tears, pulling away from Callum. _“_ _How have you been since our last meeting, Callum?”_

“I told my friend Rayla about my father,” Callum says, “She’s okay with it.”

“ _I am glad,”_ Aaravos murmurs, a soft, sad smile on his dark face. _“Did I not tell you that it was unlikely that your friends would reject you?”_

“You did,” Callum acknowledges, “I still worried though.”

Aaravos hums, looking around the tower’s ruin, and makes a series of gestures that Callum can barely follow.

Glass shards lift from the floor, rising to their former positions, and the windows repair themselves, the roof following suit and the stones shifting into alignment once more.

“ _That’s better,”_ Aaravos says quietly. _“I admit I still feel unsettled, little one, so I will meditate. You are welcome to join me and learn of the Earth.”_

“Okay, if I’m not intruding or anything,” Callum says.

“ _You are not,”_ Aaravos says, and closes his eyes, taking a deep, calming breath. _“Earth is strength, balance and stability. I desire stability and will be casting with that intent.”_

Aaravos’s hands are shaking when he raises them, eyes still closed, and begins drawing glowing green lines of power that seem to hum as he works.

The tune is soft and gentle and Callum finds it calming, a soothing lullaby that reminds him of his mother singing him to sleep when he was very little. And Aaravos is singing softly just as Mom had been, though the words are foreign and hard to understand.

Aaravos continues to sing the words, over and over, features calming with each successive repetition, until at last his face is still and serene.

“Any better?” Callum asks as Aaravos opens his eyes.

“ _Yes,”_ Aaravos says, _“Or at least as much as I can be, given what I’ve remembered at long last.”_

Callum isn’t sure what to say. It must be devastating to know that you had been married and then lost that person and forgotten them. He doesn’t even think Dad could ever forget Mom. Some of the advisers had suggested he remarry some time after Callum’s tenth birthday but Dad had refused point-blank to discuss it.

“ _Callum,”_ Aaravos says quietly.

“What?” Callum asks.

“ _Would you like to learn more of the Sources?”_

“Yes,” Callum says, “I mean, if you’d like to tell me, I don’t want to push you.”

“ _I would like a distraction from my grief, Callum,”_ Aaravos says, _“Though I intend to teach you regardless. These memories are...merely a reminder that though I may be trapped here, I can still do some good in this world.”_

Not for the first time, Callum wonders why the elf is trapped here and if he will ever learn the story one day.

“ _Since I mentioned the Earth earlier,”_ Aaravos says, _“We’ll begin there. You know now their concepts, their ideals. Earth may be used to shield, to protect, to draw things into balance that were not before.”_

“Is that what you did to repair the tower?” Callum asks.

“ _Correct,”_ Aaravos says.

“ _Another spell would be Murum lapideum,”_ Aaravos says, and the stones shift behind him, a wall rising above him. _“Stone wall in the common tongue. A shield against most projectile weapons, and depending on the strength of your will, shall hold even against magical attacks.”_

The wall sinks down into the floor again as Callum watches.

“Is there a spell to create something like a stone tent, if we’re traveling and have no shelter?” Callum asks. He doesn’t fancy getting caught in another rainstorm without shelter again. It’d taken _days_ for his clothes to dry out.

Aaravos thinks for a moment. _“Lapis tectumque,”_ he says, and his fingers trace a symbol through the air. Two stone slabs slam together at an angle over Aaravos’s horns and Callum jumps at the sound though Aaravos is unperturbed. _“_ _It is a crude shelter but it will suffice if_ _you have nothing else_ _._ _Now,”_ Aaravos says, _“Watch closely,”_ he draws the symbol again, slower this time, but the spell does not activate, held in some kind of stasis.

Callum studies the symbol. “Can I try it?”

Aaravos nods, _“Remember what_ _E_ _arth is, and what you intend the spell to do. It is your will that makes the magic strong.”_

“Okay,” Callum says, tucking his tongue between his teeth as he concentrates, hands up, drawing the same symbol that Aaravos had. “Lapis tectumque,” he mutters and winces as the stone slabs slam together over his head. “Hey, it worked!”

“ _Well done,”_ Aaravos says softly. _“Reversing it merely requires concentration, no words. You wish the stones to return to their places, and it will be so.”_

“Okay...” Callum says, a little less sure on this part.

Aaravos smiles, though it is still a sad smile, the stone slabs sinking back on either side of him.

Callum concentrates, willing the stones down and watches in awe as they obey.

“ _Very good,”_ Aaravos murmurs.

“Hey, Aaravos?” Callum asks.

“ _Hmm?”_

“How did you learn sign language?” Callum asks, and signs the words at the elf as he speaks them aloud.

“ _My wife was a learned woman, and taught me during our courtship,”_ Aaravos says. _“She used to say ‘Words of the hands speak-”_

“-louder than the voice,” Callum finishes. “Mom used to say that too. Aunt Amaya can’t hear so she and Mom taught me sign so we could talk. Then I taught it to Ezran.”

Aaravos smiles again, fondness warring with sorrow in his features. He seems on the verge of saying something, but shakes his head. _“Last we spoke, you asked if I could try to help...remove the uncomfortable feeling you have when your name is spoken, the name your father would have given you,”_ Aaravos says, _“Do you still want me to try?”_

There is something that sounds like...Callum is hard pressed to define the emotion he hears but it sounds like...apprehension?

“Yes,” Callum says firmly.

Aaravos’s gaze hardens, sharp as diamond and the look changes his face, makes it cold, aloof and a touch eerie. _“_ _Give me your hand, Callum, I will do what I can.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I liiiiive! And am updating early even! A big thank you to Moondancer5813 over on ff.net for helping me with sketching out ideas for this chapter.  
> The next chapter will be out either in two weeks or next month. I'll keep you all updated.


	9. A name of the soul, a name of the Stars

Aaravos studies Callum’s face and finds there a determination and stubbornness that reminds him achingly of Sarai, and though their son does not have her eyes, he has much of his mother’s face. Callum doesn’t hesitate to place his hand in Aaravos’s, and his hand is warm, and soft in the way that the hands of those who are not warriors are, though there are calluses that speak to long hours with a pen and paper.

Aaravos closes his eyes and concentrates, reaching out to the Moon for truth, to the Stars for guidance, and the Sky for freedom. He would see Callum free of this pain that plagues the soul-name that Aaravos knows to be Callum’s name in truth.

He needs to know what has caused this.

He reaches out and there comes a sense of fire, a roar that makes his ears ache, a sharp pain that seems to lance through him...no, not him...someone else, someone dear and kind…

“ _Oh,”_ Aaravos breathes, the answer as bright as a newly honed spearpoint. _“It happened before you were born.”_

The explosion. It had sought to imprison Aaravos, and trap anything that held even the tiniest trace of Aaravos’s power. Aaravos had been meant to be lost to the world, imprisoned for eternity for his crimes in this tower adrift from time. And though Sarai had been safe on the other side of the portal when the explosion had ripped through the tower, the wards had still been able to affect their child, young and unformed as he was. It had sealed Callum’s name, gifted by the Stars themselves, a secret that Callum would have never known. A part of him that would have been lost and beyond his reach forever.

The thought makes Aaravos tremble with rage, and he can feel the power rising up, hot and sharp in his chest.

Callum makes a startled sound as Aaravos’s grip tightens and Aaravos quells his anger. He is not angry at his son, he is angry at his jailers, whose long-standing wards have caused this, who have kept him from his child.

“ _Callum, Sihr, abnay,”_ Aaravos says softly, the endearment smooth on his tongue as he opens his eyes, _“Do you trust me?”_

“Yes,” Callum says, and the sincerity rings clear in his voice, green eyes warm.

Aaravos gently pulls his son into an embrace, resting his head against his.

“ _Close your eyes, little najima,”_ Aaravos says, _“What was done to you was done before your birth, before you greeted this world with wide eyes and open arms. Your mother and your father did their best to protect you, but even their love could not have protected you from this.”_

“But you can undo it?” Callum asks.

“ _Yes.”_

“What can I do to help?” Callum asks.

“ _Think of your mother,”_ Aaravos says quietly, _“Think of her love for you, and your father’s love for you. Draw strength from their memory. I will do the rest.”_

Aaravos closes his eyes again, pulls magic tight around them, and feels again the fire and sharp pain as he brings his power up, forming it into a spear of Starlight, aiming to pierce that seal that keeps his son’s name from him.

Again he sees Sarai, her hands outstretched towards him, and hears her cry of anguish, sees the portal slamming shut.

He lets the spear fly, and feels the seal shatter like glass, power flooding outwards like a great river no longer damned and allowed to flow free once more.

Callum gasps, “What the hell?!”

Aaravos opens his eyes.

Callum is staring wide-eyed up at him, one hand pressed to his sternum.

“ _Your name was sealed,”_ Aaravos says bluntly. _“It is no longer. You are Callum, you are Sihr, son of Sarai, a child of Stars, Sky and Earth.”_

* * *

 

Callum doesn’t get that eerie feeling of someone walking over his grave as Aaravos speaks the name that would have been given by his father.

“It worked,” Callum says.

“ _Yes,”_ Aaravos says, and there is that soft, sad fondness in his eyes again. _“Would you rather I call you Callum or Sihr?”_ he asks.

“I don’t mind what you call me,” Callum says, smiling at him. “I think you like Sihr better,” the name feels strange on his tongue, warm and sweet like a jelly tart fresh from the oven.

Aaravos inclines his head, a slow, regal movement, but says nothing. _It is up to you_ , his golden eyes seem to say.

Callum hesitates still, for he likes his name, the one his mother gave him. It is all he’s ever known but...he wants that connection to his father, even though the elf is no longer living. And Aaravos is the same kind of elf that his father was, a connection of elven blood if not paternal.

“ _Little najima,”_ Aaravos says quietly, _“It is your choice. I will not think less of you if you choose the name your mother gave you.”_

“I mean, do I really have to choose?” Callum asks, “Rayla and Ez call me Callum because that’s all they’ve ever known me as. You called me by the name my father would give me...and I-want that connection. I know so little about Startouch elves, and you’ve given me part of that back,” Callum smiles at Aaravos who seems lost for words.

“ _And once again, you surprise me,”_ Aaravos murmurs after a moment, a wondering tone evident in his deep voice. _“Then I will call you Sihr,”_ he says.

“Okay,” Callum says brightly.

Aaravos turns his head slightly, but Callum could swear that there are tears in the elf’s eyes again though when he turns back to Callum, his eyes are dry.

“Can you,” Callum begins to ask, then hesitates, but pushes onward. He wants to know more of his father’s people, _his_ people. “Can you tell me more about Startouch elves?”

“ _What do you wish to know, Sihr?”_ Aaravos asks. _“For we are a long-lived race and our lifetimes span many generations of humanity. There is much to our culture and people that goes unknown even among our elven cousins.”_

“Umm,” Callum says, because he’s unsure of exactly where to start. Growing up, he’s learned Katolisian traditions, and they are instinctive, well-known to him. This is something new, and though elven blood flows through him, he knows so little about it.

Aaravos seems to take pity on him, a soft, fond smile on his lips.

“ _The beginning, I suppose, is the best place to start, don’t you think?”_ Aaravos says kindly.

“Um, yeah,” Callum says, “Yeah, that sound good.”

Aaravos laughs quietly.

“ _Once, little najima, long ago, the stars walked in an endless, dark void,”_ Aaravos says, _“and found that the silence that had once embraced them as a mother might her child, had become smothering. So, they sang into being the world...”_

Callum listens intently as Aaravos speaks, describing the creation of the elves, and of humanity, born from the hands of a dark star, unbound to any Primal Source. He’s heard tales of the world’s beginning from Mom before, but that had been humanity’s tale and not the elves.

Mom had said that the great warrior goddess, Jahara, had strode through darkness of the void and brought the world to life, that the stars in the night sky were sparks from Her great spear, and the world was formed from Her breath and life. Mom had said that after creating the world, Jahara had become tired of Her labors, and gone to sleep, and rested still, cradling the world in Her hands, and that the moon was one of Her many eyes watching the ages pass over Her creation.

Callum had once found the thought of the moon as an eye fearful.

“ _Do not be afraid, Callum,” Mom had said, hugging him, stroking her fingers through his hair, “She watches over you, as She does all of Her children.”_

“ _Even the elves?” Callum had asked._

“ _Even them,” Mom had replied. “For just as we humans were born of Jahara’s blood and flesh, the elves were made from Her silken hair and Her eyes and are just as much Her children as we are.”_

“ _She must have a lot of eyes to make so many people,” Callum had said._

“ _She does,” Mom had said. “She has as many eyes as there are stars in the sky. But the Moon is Her great Eye, and the most bright.”_

“ _What about the Sun?” Callum had asked. “It’s very bright.”_

“ _It is,” Mom had agreed, “and it is Her second eye, for Jahara was born of darkness and solitude, and Her light came later.”_

There are some differences between the stories, but some things remain the same, the great void that was empty of light and the creation of all those who walked the world. Callum wonders what else is similar between his parents’ cultures.

“So, where do Startouch elves live?” Callum asks.

“ _When we dwelt among our kin, we lived in...hmm the word does not quite translate to the common tongue, the closest approximation I can give you is star-towers. They were enormous trees that shone like the stars, and we built our homes amidst the branches, so that we would be closer to the heavens that gave us life. Each star-tower could hold an entire village, and if we desired to set out on our own to find a new home, we would carry a seed of our village’s tower and when we found a place to settle, we would plant it and sing to it so that it would grow high and strong.”_

“That sounds...amazing,” Callum says, awed, imagining towering silvery trees that glowed with a soft and gentle light.

“ _It was,”_ Aaravos murmurs, expression distant and quiet. _“The_ _star-t_ _ower in which I spent most of my life was at the edge of what you now call the Barren Plains, but it sunk into the sea long ago.”_

“Are there others in Xadia?” Callum asks.

“ _Other star-towers?”_ Aaravos asks. _“Perhaps, no doubt well hidden from even elven eyes now. With the creation of dark magic and the...murder of a Startouch Archmage, our people withdrew, fearful of dark mages seeking to harness the power of their hearts.”_

“It was a _Startouch_ Archmage that was murdered?!” Callum asks, and in his mind, he sees again the cliff, the tall figure standing there, silver-capped horns glinting in the moonlight, and hears again that terrible scream of agony that seemed to shatter the night.

“ _It was,”_ Aaravos says, and his voice is so soft, that Callum has to lean in closer to hear the words. The elf looks uncomfortable with the subject, so Callum asks a different question, hoping to steer the conversation towards something else.

“Do all elves speak the same language?”

Aaravos looks relieved at the change of subject, and shakes his head. _“Not exactly. We have a common elvish that is spoken throughout Xadia, but we all have our own languages as well._ _Therefore, if I was speaking to a Moonshadow elf, I would use the Elven common. It would be impolite to start a conversation in Moonshadow elvish before I had been invited to do so,”_ Aaravos says. _“_ _Some elves have learned the human common tongue which is useful for infiltration missions.”_

“You learned human common,” Callum points out, “and my friend Rayla speaks it too.”

“ _I did,”_ Aaravos says, _“I knew humanity when it was younger, before the Age of Dark descended upon the land. But that was a very long time ago.”_

“Is there a spell I could learn to help translate elvish?” Callum asks. “If we run into any elves, I think Rayla is going to be doing most of the talking.”

“ _There...is,”_ Aaravos says, frowning. _“I am not sure what it is exactly. I will have to look through the library, Sihr. I cannot give you an answer right now.”_

Callum nods. “Okay. What else can you tell me about Startouch elves?”

“ _We do not name our children at birth,”_ Aaravos says, _“We wait for a month and meditate, asking the Stars for their guidance in best choosing a name for the child. Your father would have done the same for you.”_

“So what does your name mean?” Callum asks. “If mine means magic?”

“ _It means the morning star, that which is the brightest star in the sky, the one that guides all others in their cycle through the heavens,”_ Aaravos says quietly, and one hand comes up to rest against the dark star upon his chest that glimmers at the edges. _“And once it was true.”_

“I don’t suppose you know what the name Rayla means?” Callum asks, after Aaravos doesn’t elaborate further.

“ _Your moonshadow friend, yes?”_ Aaravos asks, his voice gaining a dry tone to it. _“Rayla, means courage in moonshadow elvish, while in Startouch elvish it means brave hearted. A fitting name. Moonshadow elves name their children for the virtues that they wish the child to embody.”_

“She is very brave,” Callum agrees, “she went against her teammates to help me and Ez.”

“ _A difficult thing to do,”_ Aaravos says, _“Moonshadow clans are tight-knit communities, scattered as they are throughout Xadia. If word has reached them of her actions, you will not be welcomed.”_

Aaravos’s eyes are solemn now, his expression grave, _“_ _You must be cautious, Sihr.”_

“I will be,” Callum says, “I promise.”

Aaravos smiles at him. _“That is all I ask, abnay.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, a big thank you to Moondancer5813 over on ff.net for all of her help! The next chapter should be up sometime within the next two weeks. Thank you all for your patience and support!


	10. What hides in the shadows is only waiting

Getting Viren out of his jail cell is one thing, Aaravos thinks, studying the cell through the star-worm’s eyes. Getting him past the guards entirely is another. Viren is only human but Aaravos can feel the Dark magic that has seeped into the mage’s body, a corruption from within. Channeling the natural elements through Viren’s casting had burned away some of it but much remained, a black ichor that flows like blood through Viren’s veins.

There’s something that has been nagging him about Viren’s history with Callum. His son had said the man was somewhat of a jerk, and there had been a darkness to Callum’s green eyes, a shadow that made Aaravos wonder.

He withdraws from the star-worm, returning to the balcony where he has sat in meditation as the day has begun to fade into night, streaks of red marring the darkening sky. The obsidian scrying bowl rests before him, already filled with water, which gleams beneath the light of a slowly waxing moon.

Aaravos prays to the Stars for guidance and settles his hands at the bowl’s edges, and begins to chant.

Scrying, though usually done for events in the present, could be done for events in the past.

“’ _arini tarikh abnay mae Viren,”_ Aaravos commands and the words seem to sing, almost bouncing off the water, sharp and crystalline images spiraling out from the center of the water.

He sees his son, so small and young, hiding behind his mother’s leg, watching a much younger Viren, who is speaking animatedly with another young man with dark skin and bright eyes who wears a crown of uneven towers.

The scene shifts, and Sarai and her son stand with the king for a family portrait. Sarai is holding a baby in her arms and Aaravos’s heart aches, watching them, smiling and _happy_. The portrait is finished and the family disperses as the king stands for one last portrait, Callum waving shyly to Viren who returns the wave, a warmth on his face that has been completely absent every time that Aaravos has seen the man.

Another shift, and the king is speaking with Callum, face grave with sorrow, and Callum’s face is heartbroken. Viren stands in the shadows, and...he looks just as heartbroken and strangely...guilty. Aaravos has little time to wonder about the expression before the scenes are shifting, jumping forwards in time.

Callum grows taller, and Viren grows grayer, his face pinched and weary with stress. And his interactions with Callum grow sharper, when the two are in the same room.

Aaravos studies the water, reading the mage’s lips, and he finds the words “step-prince” used more often as the years pass.

Then comes a night where the moonshadow elves attack. Soldiers line the stairways and the halls, as outside, in the ebony sky, a full moon rises.

Aaravos watches as Callum tries to speak with the king, clearly shouting at Viren to let him pass. And then—Viren uses Dark magic _against_ Callum.

Aaravos stares, aghast at the scene unfolding before him, Callum’s voice _stolen_ from him. The moonshadow elves charging through the soldiers of Katolis, and in the confusion, Viren dropping the claw that held Callum’s voice. Callum’s scream for the king, and then in fear and anguish, running from the battle.

Aaravos shoves the scrying bowl away from him, water shaking over the sides and struggles to calm the _rage_ that has welled up inside him, like a volcano that is ready to explode.

_Viren has used Dark magic against Aaravos’s precious son. His child, his brilliant Sihr._

He bites back the urge to reach out to Viren, to demand answers, to do _something._

Aaravos reaches out to Earth instead, seeking balance once more. He’s unstable enough as it is.

It is almost midnight before Aaravos is anywhere near calm, the embers of his anger smoldering, just waiting to be unleashed when the time is right.

He considers the visions of his scrying, and recalls Viren’s expression when the king had spoken to Callum, guilty and sorrowful. Guilt could be useful, he thinks viciously.

Aaravos pulls the scrying bowl towards him again, braiding his hair back so it stays out of the way, and leans over the bowl, beginning to chant again. He seeks the reason for Viren’s guilt and his magic lends sound to his ears, gives the scenes more life than it would otherwise.

 

“ _The heart of a Magma Titan,” a younger Viren proclaims, standing beside the king, “...if we can hunt this monster and slay it, I can use the heart of the titan in a powerful spell that will warm the land, and allow us to magically grow and incredible bounty.”_

 

“ _I know it seems like this will solve things,” Sarai says, and she is arrayed in red and gold, wielding her spear with grace and finesse, “but isn’t it a little too easy? That’s always the way with dark magic.”_

 

“ _We must take the heart and hurry back,” Viren says, surveying the corpse of the magma titan, lying in ruins, another magical creature fallen to human desperation._

 

“ _This is our day to sacrifice,” one of the queens of Duren proclaims, as the Dragon King roars his challenge against those who would dare invade his lands. “You get the titan’s heart to safety. Save all of our people,” the other queen adds._

 

_Thunder ravaging the land, the clouds dark and black._

“ _I can help!” Viren cries, turning back to the battlefield._

 

“ _Viren,” Sarai says, turning and finding the mage not among those who have already made it through to the safety of the human lands. “Without him to perform the spell, the heart is worthless, and this was all for nothing.”_

“ _Sarai,” the king says, “What are you saying?”_

_Sarai mounts her warhorse, wheeling back towards Xadia, “I’ll see you on the other side.”_

 

_Sarai finds Viren, swings him up behind her in the saddle._

“ _Thank you,” he says, wide-eyed._

“ _Don’t thank me yet,” Sarai says and then they are running from the King of the Dragons as he calls down the lightning._

 

_They run, but do not get far. Thunder’s blast throws both riders from the warhorse’s back—and Sarai’s shriek of agony is choked by blood. Her breath rasps, wet and pained, chest struggling to rise. Her hands twitch towards her throat, as if to tug at a pendant that is no longer there, her gauntlets dusty and blood-spattered. Then she is still and does not move again._

 

Aaravos shoves the bowl back, a cry of horror escaping him before he bites his lip, holding in the scream that wants to claw its way free.

_Viren is the reason his wife is dead._

A part of his brain tries to reason that Sarai had made the decision to go back, that Viren does not entirely bear the blame but he refuses to listen to it.

 _And Viren’s not entirely useful right now, is he?_ Another part of him whispers, cold and smooth as silver beneath the moonlight, as a knife in the back. _He’s locked in a cell, lacking information and power. What good is he?_

 _Yes,_ Aaravos thinks, _what good **is** he? He hurt my **son** and it is **his** fault that Sarai is dead!_

The stone beneath him groans threateningly, and cracks begin to spiderweb out from the scrying bowl, and Aaravos snarls, standing, his rage boiling over.

He stares out into the void and lifts his hands, and the words seem to crack through the air, as if a sheet of ice has broken, _“_ _Sol trabem.”_

He lets all of it rise up, the anger, the sorrow, the _pain,_ and sets it free into the void in a great explosion of light that sears his eyes, that turns the night sky to brilliant day, again and again, and it’s not enough, it won’t be enough, it will _never_ be enough-

He reaches out, and a storm roars about the tower, a hurricane that embodies all of Aaravos’s anguish, made into reality by his magic alone.

 _Perhaps,_ Aaravos thinks, watching the winds whip past, hearing the rumble of thunder in the distance, the rain pelting about him, _I truly have lost my mind._

The thought makes him laugh, high and wild, and then it turns to wretched sobs and that sound too is lost to the wind.

* * *

 

Callum breathes a sigh of relief as the Barren Plains vanish behind another rolling hill.

“I am so glad to be out of that place,” he declares.

“Same,” Rayla agrees.

Zym chirps from his perch on Rayla’s shoulders, a delicate balancing act that the little Prince has perfected over the weeks and days they’ve been traveling.

“So where are we going now?” Callum asks.

“North,” Rayla says, “We’ll be in the Spines soon.”

“The Spines?” Callum asks.

“Mountains,” Rayla clarifies. “We call them the Spines of the Ancients, or the Spines for short. Some of the Skywing elves live in the higher parts, but we probably won’t see any.”

They camp at the edge of the Spines, nestled into a small cove at the base of the range. Zym curls into a ball at Callum’s side as Rayla takes first watch, and Callum closes his eyes and sleeps.

The tower is dark when Callum arrives.

Thunder rumbles outside, lightning flaring past the high windows, casting eerie shadows up the walls and Callum shivers, touching his pendant nervously. It is icy cold against his skin and he isn’t sure what that means.

Every time he’s come to the tower, it’s been a place of warmth, comforting and as familiar as his own room back in the castle. The fireplace is ashes and Callum can hardly see where anything is in the gloom, though he knows by memory where most things are.

Callum looks around for Aaravos, finding the mage absent. It’s strange, he’s never seen him anywhere else but this room. Though, then again, Callum has never been anywhere but this room.

There are a set of double doors on the other side of the study and Callum heads towards them.

“Aaravos?” Callum calls, knocking. “Are you in here?”

There is no reply, save the thunder.

He opens the doors.

He’s staring down a flight of stone steps, that curl downwards into pitch black depths.

“ _Inlustris,”_ Callum whispers, and the stars shimmer around him, the sight comforting. “Aaravos?” he calls lowly. “You down there?”

No reply.

“Well, here’s to hoping you don’t keep something terrifying in the basement,” Callum mutters, and descends.

The stairs go for ages, and Callum is starting to wonder if they just go on forever or if there’s some strange magic involved when he arrives at a landing with an ornate door. It’s rusted but there are panels inlaid into it that look like glass and that shimmer in the light of the stars that still swirl about Callum.

Callum knocks.

“Aaravos?” he calls, “You in here?”

Although, Callum supposes there’s little other place the elf could be, unless there were other hiding places around the tower.

The door creaks inward, revealing a small well-lit study, the walls lined with bookshelves, the sound of low singing drifting to Callum’s ears and he relaxes a little, recognizing the voice.

“Aaravos,” he says, walking in and finding the elf seated in a chair beside the roaring fire. “What is this place?”

“ _An escape,”_ the elf says softly, looking up at favoring Callum with a gentle smile. _“Have a seat,”_ he gestures towards the other chair that sits across from him. _“Sometimes the upstairs study is a little...boring. So I have this one below.”_

“It’s pretty far down,” Callum says, settling onto the cushioned chair.

“ _Is it now, I hadn’t noticed,”_ Aaravos says slyly.

“Did you just make a joke?” Callum asks, incredulous.

Another smile, _“What do you think?”_

Somewhere overhead, the thunder rumbles.

“I think you elves have strange sense of humor,” Callum decides. “What’s with the weather? I’ve never seen it storm here before.”

“ _The weather here changes with the seasons,”_ Aaravos says, shrugging. _“It will be over soon enough.”_

_Are you frightened of it?”_

“Of the storm?” Callum asks, “Nah, though my little brother is sometimes if they’re really loud.”

“ _Hmm,”_ Aaravos says, _“how have you been, Callum?”_

“Fine, I guess,” Callum says, “We’ve gotten out of the Barren Plains at least.”

“ _Good,”_ Aaravos says, leaning back in his chair, the firelight flickering across his dark face. It casts strange shadows beneath his eyes, giving them a deep-sunken look. _“It is not a place you should linger long,”_ he murmurs, studying Callum. _“Where do you intend to go now?”_

“Um, north, I think,” Callum says as an absolutely booming thunderclap seems to shake the tower, “Should we go check on that?”

Aaravos looks unconcerned, not even twitching as the next peal of thunder causes a book to fall from the shelf. _“It will pass in time, Callum,”_ Aaravos says, his voice soft and smooth as silk, _“Surely you’re not a little afraid of_ _ **thunder**_ _?”_

“I’m not,” Callum says. “You aren’t worried about anything breaking?”

“ _Not at all,”_ Aaravos says, _“There have been storms before. They all pass in time. Now,”_ the elf rises from his chair. _“Do you trust me, Callum?”_

“Yes,” Callum replies.

Aaravos smiles, his eyes glittering as he stands. _“Good, come with me, there’s something I want to show you.”_

“Do you actually have something terrifying locked in the basement?” Callum asks, following him, “I mean, in the basement that probably-”

Aaravos opens the door and there is another staircase leading down.

Okay, that’s _weird_ , Callum thinks. “There wasn’t a staircase going down before,” he says, peering around Aaravos.

“ _Magic can do many things, Callum, even hide staircases,”_ Aaravos murmurs, amusement in his tone, and then there is a miniature sun hovering above the elf’s hand. “ _Come along now.”_

They descend, the only light the sun in Aaravos’s hand, sending their shadows flickering up the walls in an eerie dance.

“How far down are we?” Callum asks.

“ _How far down do you think we are?”_ Aaravos asks.

“Beneath the tower, at least,” Callum says. “What do you keep down here anyway?”

“ _Magical artifacts, for the most part,”_ Aaravos says, turning to look back at him, though he continues walking.

The pendant growers colder still, and Callum winces.

They come at last to a landing, the stones worn smooth. Here too, there is a rusted door inlaid with glass and Aaravos pulls it open with little difficulty.

“Hey, um, Aaravos,” Callum asks, “My pendant, the one Mom gave me, it’s been getting pretty cold-”

The scent of dust and mildew drift past as the mage steps through the doorway. _“Ah, here we are,”_ Aaravos says quietly, voice echoing.

Callum follows, wondering if Aaravos even heard him. This is a little more than creepy, he admits. He supposes that being as old as he is, Aaravos must have some creepy things lying around but did he have to put them in the deepest part of the tower?

There is another room beyond the doorway, a round chamber with a domed ceiling.

It is also empty, save for a lone mirror that stretches halfway up the wall. Runes line the edges, glimmering faintly with starlight. Against Callum’s skin, the pendant is icy cold, almost burning him.

“A mirror?” Callum asks, looking at Aaravos.

“ _Correct,”_ Aaravos says, closing the door behind him. _“A mirror.”_

“It’s a magic mirror, isn’t it?” Callum asks, squinting at the mirror.

Aaravos laughs, and the sound echoes, and re-echoes, strange and discordant.

“ _What do you think?”_ Aaravos asks, after the last of the echoes have faded.

Callum steps closer, and finds only himself staring back, Aaravos a distant figure in the background. “It looks like a normal mirror to me.”

“ _It would,”_ Aaravos says, and Callum jumps; he hadn’t even heard him move, hadn’t seen movement in the mirror. One hand rests on Callum’s shoulder as Aaravos leans over him, and taps the glass with a glittering finger. _“This mirror shows many things. Things that were, things that are, and some things, that have not yet come to pass.”_

“Huh,” Callum says, staring as the glass seems to ripple from Aaravos’s touch. “Is that normal?”

Aaravos smiles, _“It is,”_ his other hand comes to rest on Callum’s other shoulder, _“Now, do you trust me, Callum?”_

“I do,” Callum says, “You keep asking me that. You know I do.”

Aaravos tilts his head, _“_ _Look into the mirror, Callum, and tell me what you see.”_

Frowning, Callum looks and recoils.

His reflection has gray skin, black eyes and black veins that creep towards his neck.

“This-” Callum starts to say and looks past his reflection to where Aaravos stands behind him. Aaravos is a creature of nightmare, gilded in red, crimson eyes gleaming with malice and Callum feels Aaravos’s hands tighten on his shoulders.

“ _Oh, Callum,”_ Aaravos whispers in his ear, and suddenly there is a knife at his throat, cold metal pressing tight against his skin, blood trickling down. _“You must understand, little one. Sacrifices must be made.”_

Callum wakes up **screaming.**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, a big thank you to Moondancer5813 over on ff.net for all of her help! The next chapter should be up sometime within the next two weeks. Thank you all for your patience and support!


	11. To mend what is broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early, early chapter update because reasons. As ever, a big thank you to Moondancer5813 over on ff.net for all of her help! The next chapter should be up within the next two weeks, sometime around the 27th. Thank you all for your patience and support!

Callum is shaking and he can’t stop. Rayla’s thrown her blanket over his shoulders, one arm around them. The fire is roaring before them and even Zym is curled in Callum’s lap, but nothing helps.

“He tried to kill me,” Callum whispers for what has to be the fiftieth time that hour.

“You’re sure?” Rayla asks, “absolutely sure?”

“I think so,” Callum says, “it couldn’t have been a nightmare, because my pendant protects against that.”

“Maybe it stopped working?” Rayla asks.

“I don’t get it,” Callum says, and again that whisper threads through his mind.

_Sacrifices must be made._

“Why would he do that?” Callum asks, and his voice is thick with tears.

“And why now?” Rayla asks. “If he’s been teaching you for a while, why would he do this now?”

“I don’t know!” Callum wails into his hands. “Why would he-”

He bursts into wretched, angry tears. “The one person who could tell me more about Startouch elves and he just wants me dead!”

“Callum,” Rayla says, and Zym nudges his hands, whining softly.

“He had a knife to my throat, Rayla!” Callum cries. “What was I supposed to do?!”

“I had my blades at your throat once,” Rayla says, “you talked back to me and ran. You also set guards on me.”

“That was a completely different thing,” Callum says, sniffling, rubbing at his eyes. “What do I do now?”

“How do you get to this place?” Rayla asks, “Do you just go there whenever you sleep?”

“I mean, I just show up there usually,” Callum says. “Gods, and I always felt safe there. It felt like _home!”_ he’s crying again and Rayla pats his back comfortingly.

Sometime after he’s stopped crying, Rayla asks, “What did it feel like when you were there last night? Did it feel like home then?”

“It felt,” Callum pauses and thinks back. “It was very dark. There was a storm and I remember thinking that was weird because it’s always been calm weather when I visited before. I asked Aa—him about it and he said the weather changed with the seasons.”

“Callum,” Rayla says, “it’s still midyear, the seasons won’t change for another four months.”

Callum goes completely still. “Then it might not have been him?”

“I don’t know,” Rayla says, holding up one hand. “I’m no expert in magic, especially not Startouch elf magic. But, you know him better than I do. Did it seem like him?”

Callum hiccups, trying to think. “I-think so,” then he shudders, remembering the malevolent gaze reflected in the mirror. “I don’t want to go back to sleep.”

“You can’t not sleep,” Rayla says flatly, “That’s how you get dead.”

“What if I go back when I sleep though?” Callum asks, desperate.

Rayla grabs his hand, “Look, Callum, do you trust me?”

Callum can’t help the flinch.

“ _Do you trust me, Callum?” the soft deep voice says, and again the blade slides across his throat-_

“Callum!” Rayla is shaking him. “You with me?”

“Sorry!” Callum says, shuddering. “I just...in the...dream...he asked me that too...”

“Oh, Callum,” Rayla says, her eyes bright and sorrowful and she hugs him tight.

Callum clings to her like a drowning man, trying hard not to break down into tears again.

“If you fall asleep and go back there, squeeze my hand, and I’ll wake you up, okay?” Rayla says.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Callum asks. “I mean, I’ve not woken up from you poking me before.”

“I’ll make it work,” Rayla says firmly, “I’ll dunk you in water if I have to.”

So, fearfully, surrounded by his friends, Callum closes his eyes and sleeps.

He doesn’t go to the tower for a long time after, and it is only after a grueling trek up part of the Spines that has the group sheltering from the howling winds, that everyone sleeps at the same time.

“We don’t need to set a watch here,” Rayla says, staring into the inky darkness. “No fire though, just in case.”

They huddle together for warmth, and Callum falls asleep with Rayla’s arm around his shoulder and Zym purring away in his lap.

The tower is filled with light, friendly and welcoming this time, but empty.

“What is this place?” Rayla asks beside him. Zym gives a soft chirp.

Callum jumps. “You’re here too?!”

“Um, yeah,” Rayla says. “I mean, I guess. Is this where you go in your dreams?”

“Sometimes,” Callum says, looking around. No sign of Aaravos.

Anxiety cools knot-like in his stomach, fear crawling up his spine. It’s been almost a month now.

“Hey,” Rayla says, her hand warm on his arm, “It’s okay. You’re not alone.”

Zym nudges Callum’s leg and clambers up into his arms, rumbling quietly.

Callum pats the dragon’s head and looks to the double doors. “There’s a staircase over there,” he says and moves towards them. He takes a deep breath and pushes one door open.

Instead of a staircase, there is a balcony, overflowing with greenery, plants curl over railings, glowing radiant in the sunshine, the scent of lilies light in the air. An onyx bowl half filled with water rests against a stone planter in which blue irises grow amidst snowdrops.

“I thought you said there was a staircase,” Rayla says, raising one eyebrow.

“There was the last time I was here,” Callum says.

“Maybe it moves?” Rayla asks.

“Maybe?” Callum says, equally unsure. He steps into the garden, Rayla following behind him.

“It’s beautiful,” Callum whispers, wincing as Zym climbs up to his shoulder, claws digging in before spreading his wings to fly to Rayla’s shoulder, cooing.

“Aye,” Rayla agrees, allowing Zym to clamber across to her right shoulder and perch. “I’ve never seen some of these plants before.”

_“Sihr?”_

Callum stiffens as does Rayla and they both turn towards the opposite end of the garden.

Aaravos looks the same as ever, though his hair is plaited neatly back now, no longer free-flowing about his face. He frowns. _“Sihr_ _, are you alright?”_

Callum shakes his head, stepping back a pace as Aaravos steps forward, and Rayla moves forward to act as a barrier, though Callum can still see around her.

Aaravos certainly looks normal, not at all like the malevolent elf that Callum had seen last time. But looks could be deceiving.

Hurt flashes across Aaravos’s face and he stops, remaining where he is, hands at his sides.

“ _Little najima,”_ Aaravos says, his voice gentle and soft, _“what has happened? Why do you recoil from me?”_

“Last time I was here,” Callum says, and his voice is shaking, tears in his eyes, “you told me that sacrifices must be made. And you tried to cut my throat.”

Aaravos’s reaction is immediate, a full-body flinch, his expression horrified, one hand pressed to the star at his chest. _“I did what?!”_ he cries, stepping back to lean against the wall, shaking. _“_ _Abnay_ _, I_ _did_ _no such thing!”_ he says, and his gaze is agonized as he looks at Callum. _“I swear upon the Stars that gave me life, that I drew no weapon against you! I would rather cut out what is left of my heart than harm you, Sihr!”_

Callum stares at him. He wants to believe him, and pushes past Rayla to walk closer. Aaravos’s eyes are bright and clear, glowing gold in the sunlight, not that terrifying red. He doesn’t move towards Callum, remaining against the wall.

“You...you..told me that my pendant would keep the nightmares away,” Callum says.

“ _Yes,”_ Aaravos says and there are tears in his eyes.

“If what I saw wasn’t you, what was it?” Callum asks.

Aaravos draws in a shaky breath, clearly thinking. _“You cast that spell before we unsealed your name, correct?”_

“Yeah,” Callum says.

“ _The unsealing may have disrupted the spell,”_ Aaravos says. _“It was a powerful act of magic to unseal your given name, and your magic was partially tied to that seal.”_

“So...” Callum says, his voice faint even to his own ears, “It _was_ a nightmare?”

“ _Yes, abnay,”_ Aaravos says, _“only a nightmare. I am so, so sorry that it hurt you.”_

Aaravos looks like he wants to reach out to Callum but is hesitating.

Callum can see no deceit in his teacher’s face, no hint of madness in his bright eyes. So he crosses those last few steps and hugs him and Callum bursts into tears again, clinging to Aaravos.

* * *

Aaravos wraps his son in an embrace, and Stars, he wants to cry for the pain that Callum has experienced. That he had thought that Aaravos had—that he would have… he doesn’t want to even _think_ about it.

“ _Oh, little najima, I could never hurt you,”_ Aaravos whispers, _“Never in ten thousand years.”_

“I was so scared,” Callum says.

“ _I do not doubt it,”_ Aaravos says, and impulsively presses a kiss to his hair, _“oh abnay, I am so sorry that the spell failed you. I did not even consider that unsealing your name would disrupt it.”_

Callum is still shaking against him, and Aaravos just holds him, offering what comfort he can.

The newcomers to his tower stand a few feet away. Aaravos glances over them, a moonshadow elf, and...the Dragon Prince. Oh, his son was a powerful mage indeed, to drag two others with him.

The moonshadow elf meets his gaze squarely. Rayla, he recalls her name is.

Callum shifts and pulls slightly away, sniffling. “Sorry,” he says.

“ _Do not apologize, Sihr,”_ Aaravos murmurs, brushing away the tearstains that still linger on Callum’s cheeks, _“Tears are never a sign of weakness. You were put off balance by what you saw. Nightmares do often have a way of bringing our worst fears to life.”_

“Yeah,” Callum agrees, rubbing at his eyes. “It was...not good...oh thank the gods that it wasn’t true-” he hugs Aaravos again, clinging tight.

Aaravos kisses his forehead, _“Forgive me, abnay, that I was not able to protect you,”_ he whispers. _“_ _I should have considered more carefully the effects such a spell might have upon you. It was my fault that you were so frightened.”_

Callum sniffles again, “It seemed so real.”

Aaravos has no words, but hugs his son tighter. Would that he could be a shield to guard his son’s dreams as a mighty dragon guarding their hoard but the wards prevent too much interference for him to do more than this.

Right here, right now, his son is beside him, and he can only pray that his teachings will guard Callum in his stead. That and his friends, Aaravos amends his thought, glancing up to find Rayla studying him, caution and worry plain on her face.

“ _Come, Sihr. Sit with me, and we will find a way to protect your sleeping mind,”_ Aaravos says, releasing his hold on his son, kneeling down beside a planter that overflows with twisting green vines.

“Okay,” Callum says, taking a seat next to him. “Uh, I hope you don’t mind that Rayla and Zym managed to get here too.”

“ _I don’t mind at all. It is rare enough that I have visitors now. It is a pleasure to see new faces,”_ Aaravos says, turning to greet Rayla and Zym properly. _“Stars guide and keep you, child of moon and shadow, and you, prince of dragons.”_

“Um, hi,” Rayla says, and her eyes are suspicious as she looks at him. Aaravos doesn’t blame her in the slightest.

“You can tell he’s a prince?” she jerks a thumb towards Zym who chirps happily on her shoulder.

“ _Indeed,”_ Aaravos says, and says in draconic, **“Welcome to my home, your highness.”**

“ **Your home is very pretty, star-bright one,”** the prince replies.

“You can understand him?” Callum asks, gaping.

“ _Of course,”_ Aaracos says, _“long ago, the elves and dragons lived together and spoke as one people. It is only with the passage of time, that our languages have diverged from one another._ **Your highness, if I may ask, what shall I call you?”**

“ **Mother named me Azymondias,”** the prince says, **“But Ezran calls me Zym! I like Zym.”**

“ **Then, with your highness’s permission, I will call you the same,”** Aaravos says.

“ **Please do!”** Zym chirps, delighted, **“What do I call you, star-bright one?”**

“ **I am Aaravos,”** Aaravos says, smiling at the prince’s cheerful attitude.

“ **Greetings, Aaravos!”** Zym says, wiggling his wings. **“Might I explore?”**

“ **Feel free to, though I would caution against eating any of the plants,”** Aaravos says.

“ **Okay!”** Zym says, flapping awkwardly off Rayla’s shoulder.

“Zym, where are you going?” she calls.

“ _He wishes to explore,”_ Aaravos says. _“He will come to no harm here, miss Rayla.”_

“O-okay,” Rayla says, “And can you drop the miss, just Rayla is fine. I didn’t quite catch your name.”

“ _I am Aaravos,”_ Aaravos says, _“I am glad to see that Sihr has such loyal friends beside him.”_

“He means me,” Callum interjects at Rayla’s look of confusion.

“He calls you ‘sparkle’?” Rayla asks.

Aaravos laughs. _“Ah yes, it does mean that in your tongue, doesn’t it?”_

“I thought you said it meant magic!” Callum says.

“ _In Startouch elvish, it does, and in moonshadow elvish it means sparkling, more or less,”_ Aaravos says.

Rayla snorts, “Sparkle. You know, it kind of suits you, Callum.”

“Hey!” Callum says, “I don’t sparkle!”

“ _You might one day,”_ Aaravos says softly.

“What?” Callum asks, shocked.

“ _We unsealed your name,”_ Aaravos explains, _“It hid much of your elvish blood and its traits.”_

“Does that mean I’ll grow horns?” Callum asks.

Aaravos studies him, _“I do not think so. I think you might develop some of the faint glow all Startouch have, but not as visible as mine is. Your mother’s blood and the seal worked..._ _too well.”_

“Does that mean if whatever happened to Mom before I was born hadn’t happened, then I would look more like my dad?” Callum asks.

Aaravos takes a deep, steadying breath. He can see it too, Callum as he should have been, darker skin speckled with a tapestry of stars, branching horns curling back over brown hair. But that possibility is long gone, lost to fate’s weave, stolen from his son before Callum even took his first breath.

“ _Yes, little najima,”_ Aaravos says softly. _“I believe so.”_


	12. Echoes of our legends

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever, a big thank you to Moondancer5813 over on ff.net for all of her help! The next chapter should be up within the next two weeks, sometime around the 10th. Thank you all for your patience and support!

Callum considers Aaravos, trying to imagine himself with the same starry skin and dark horns. It’s an odd image but not an unwelcome one.

He’d have stood out a lot more in Katolis, he thinks.

Aaravos is watching him, a gentle sort of pride mixed with sorrow in his bright eyes.

“Aaravos?” Callum asks. “How do we fix my pendant? I-I don’t want nightmares like that again.”

“ _You must cast the spell again,”_ Aaravos says softly, and there is a flash of grief that is there and gone across his face, _“I will teach you how to better guard your sleeping mind. I do not think the pendant’s protection, once renewed, will fail you so drastically again, but I would rather have over-prepared you than under._

“ _Being able to tell the difference between a dream and a nightmare, especially when the nightmare cloaks itself so insidiously, as well as being able to identify the dream-memories of the land itself, is something that a mage gifted with your abilities should learn,”_ Aaravos continues.

“What are dream-memories?” Callum asks, frowning over the term.

“ _Sometimes,”_ Aaravos says, “ _there are events so powerful, so meaningful, that they leave psychic scars on the land. The place where the Startouch elves made their first city is one, the Breach itself is another.”_

“Like the Barren Plains…” Rayla says, settling on Callum’s other side, opposite Aaravos, her gaze thoughtful and still a little wary. Behind her, Zym is nosing a large golden blossom, chirruping happily.

“ _Also another,”_ Aaravos confirms. _“None sleep well while within its boundaries. The Dark magic left there is a corruption that pushes further with each passing year. It replays the events that have long since passed into legend among elvenkind.”_

Callum shivers. “I think I’ve seen some of that.”

Aaravos closes his eyes, bowing his head. _“It is...I am sorry that you saw that, Sihr.”_

The elf looks like he’s in pain.

“Aaravos, are you okay?” Callum asks, reaching for Aaravos’s hand.

“ _I will be fine, little najima,”_ Aaravos says, and he squeezes Callum’s hand gently. _“I...the pain will pass in time.”_

The elf’s jaw tightens, and he draws in a sharp breath. _“Sihr_ _, the spell that I will teach you may be layered into your mother’s pendant or another item should you so choose._ _It is a spell of the Stars, for they govern the realm of dreams….”_ he takes another shuddering breath. _“The...nightmare you had...when you were there, did your pendant react?”_

“It was cold, like ice,” Callum says, thinking back. “I didn’t know what it meant.”

Aaravos nods. _“T_ _hen the spell is not completely broken, for t_ _hat is a sign of a nightmare. If i_ _t is warm, you walk within a dream-memory, if it is neither, than more often than not, you are here._ _Still,_ _”_ Aaravos says, _“If you are ever unsure, hold the pendant in your hand and_ _say, “_ _nujum, twjhni ‘iilaa bir al’aman.” Literally translated, Stars, guide me to safety. It will enable you to escape a nightmare if one has taken hold of your sleeping mind.”_

Callum carefully repeats the words, memorizing each syllable until Aaravos nods acceptance. The words seems to flow easier for him now, as if they were only kept stored away, and are now being dusted off and used properly.

“Hey, um, what’s the Startouch word for dad?” Callum asks.

“ _Alab,”_ Aaravos says, and Callum repeats it soft and low. The word seems familiar, sparking some dim and distant memory that is held in warm, comforting darkness. _“Mother would be ‘umi.”_

“ _Would you like to learn as well, Rayla?”_ Aaravos asks.

“I mean, I guess,” Rayla says, looking uncertain though the wariness has mostly eased from her posture, “I’ve never heard anyone speak Startouch elvish so I don’t think it would be very useful.”

“ _It is true that many of us withdrew from the world,”_ Aaravos says, _“It is rather unlikely that you would see any of my people on your journey but that is no reason not to learn. It might become useful in another way later on.”_

Rayla seems to consider this. “Alright,” she says.

Aaravos smiles, quiet and soft, though Callum thinks it seems worn down, tired and he remembers how Aaravos had looked the first night they’d met, weary and in pain. Callum wonders if Startouch elves ever get sick the way that humans do, and if Aaravos has been suffering from long illness for ages. The thought troubles him.

“Aaravos?” Callum asks.

“ _Yes, Sihr?”_

“You’re not...um, sick are you?”

“ _No,”_ Aaravos says with a soft laugh, _“No, I am merely very tired, little one., and often troubled by an old injury, nothing more. Once, I was mighty, and now, I am but an echo of the man I once was. But I will teach you all that I can.”_

He studies Callum for a moment longer, seemingly searching for something and evidently finding it, because he nods slightly and continues, _“If you are to learn the language of our fore-mothers, then we must start, as all things do, at the beginning...”_

* * *

 Aaravos feels joy swell like a great tide in his heart, watching Callum relax fully, the fear of the nightmare banished in the light of the truth that Aaravos has given him.

Teaching Callum elvish is a task that will take some time, though already, his son seems to have an innate grasp of it.

Aaravos wonders if it’s the magic in his blood that has allowed for this, or if there was something in Sarai’s family tree that she had never mentioned.

He sets aside the memories of long hours that they had talked of family, of faith, and so many other things. Here, and now, his son is speaking Startouch elvish, hardly fumbling over the letters and their unfamiliar sounds. Rayla seems content to listen rather than participate which Aaravos doesn’t mind.

To hear another voice speaking his mother tongue, is balm to his shattered soul, it soothes the ache that has returned in his chest, the corruption of Elarion’s magic still gnawing away at what was left of his magical core.

If he were at the height of his power, he would be able to purify the corruption easily, but even with the power that Callum had inadvertently unlocked, it would not be enough and it was getting worse.

Aaravos isn’t sure how long he can keep it at bay, how long he can stem the corruption before it consumes him utterly, drives him mad, turns him into a creature of nightmare that wouldn’t hesitate to sacrifice anything to escape.

He wonders, briefly, if that future is what Callum has seen, in that nightmare that had so twisted Callum’s reality and shudders at the thought.

“Aaravos?”

“ _Hmm?”_ Aaravos glances over to find Callum looking at him quizzically.

“You’re a little out of it,” his son says.

“ _It has merely been a long time since I’ve heard another voice speak my mother tongue,”_ Aaravos lies smoothly, silently hating himself for to speak falsehood to his son, though at least part of it is true. _“The last one to speak it thusly was my wife.”_

“‘ _ **ahabik, Aaravos,”**_ Sarai says in his memory, and her smile is warm and bright.

“ _Zharati was the name she carried, the flower that blooms in springtime, and we were wed in the same season, for she wished to walk beside me for all of our time in this world, and I desired the same.”_

The memories of that quiet, sacred ceremony flood Aaravos’s mind with such clarity that it almost takes his breath away. Stars, she had been so beautiful, speaking those ancient words that would bind them together and he had been so filled with joy…

“You must have been happy,” Callum says.

“ _I was,”_ Aaravos says, _“though it was long ago._ _She was..she walks with her ancestors now, amidst starlight and gentle darkness,”_ Aaravos says softly, _“I will join her one day, I hope. But it will be a long time before I see her smiling face again.”_

The memory of Sarai lying crumpled, blood spattering her face, the sound of her last gasp rattling in her throat, threatens to swamp him in grief, but he shoves it back, builds a wall against its rising tide, praying to the Stars that it will be enough.

Something must still show on his face because Callum’s hand squeezes his again, comforting, a warm reminder of the present.

Aaravos takes a deep breath, smiling at his son, the only living remnant of Sarai’s bloodline save her sister, Amaya and Callum’s half-brother, Ezran.

His son lives, and is learning magic as he should. It will be enough for now. So he steadies himself, and resumes the lesson.

It’s late when his guests depart, returning to the waking world, Callum giving Aaravos another tight hug before he goes.

Aaravos, seated once more in his study, reaches out to Earth, seeking stability once more in the wake of emotions and memories that have been stirred up. He idly traces the symbol within the runic circle, watching it glow brighter beneath his fingertips.

One day, he thinks, and there is a sharpness of power not his own to it, a hint of prophecy, true sunlight will fall upon this place, not the false light that holds sway in this tower adrift between the worlds.

He finds himself to bed shortly after and as he drifts to sleep, a voice that sounds like Sarai’s whispers in his mind, a secret hope in a voice long dead, _One day you will be free, One day you will walk_ _the world again._


	13. The Midnight Star

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Early update as a birthday present to myself and because I really wanted to share this with you all. Many thanks to Moondancer over on ff.net for all of her help. Without her, I really would be lost.  
> Thank you all for your support and kind words this far, I hope you like where this story goes!

Callum studies the small sun that seems to hover over Aaravos’s palm, it makes the stars that dot his palm shimmer as it bobs gently up and down.

 _“Sihr,”_ Aaravos says softly, _“Are you going to cast?”_

“Just a minute,” Callum says, frowning as he turns the words he needs over in his mind, practicing the gestures he will use in his head first. “Okay, I think I got it.”

“ _You sound unsure,”_ Aaravos says. _“You have cast spells of similar power before.”_

“You said that the Sun can be destructive though,” Callum points out. “I’m just being careful.”

Aaravos chuckles. _“_ _The Sun is life and destruction both, yes, but it is all in how you use it.”_

Callum nods and then twists his hands as he’d seen Aaravos do earlier, “ _Sol,”_ he says sharply and grins as another tiny sun pops into existence above his hands.

“It’s warm!” Callum exclaims.

Aaravos laughs again. _“Did you expect it to be cold, abnay?”_ he teases.

“Well, no, it was just surprising is all,” Callum says, flushing. He still has no idea what the endearment means, Rayla had translated it as something like, young one or child. She wasn’t too sure, given the difference between the elven tongues.

Callum doesn’t find it demeaning though, he supposes he is very young to Aaravos, and he’s not about to ask the elf his age. Mom always said that was rude to ask of anyone.

“ _As with Inlustris, this may be used to light your path in darkness,”_ Aaravos says, _“It will also serve to keep you warm if necessary. Some parts of Xadia are quite cold at night.”_

“The desert was pretty bad,” Callum agrees. “But we had a fire then.”

“ _If…,”_ Aaravos seems to hesitate, then continues. _“If you have need of the Sun’s more destructive nature, Sihr...be careful. It is not a Source to be commanded lightly and may lash out against its caster.”_

Aaravos extinguishes the orb above his palm before turning his hand so that his palm faces outwards towards the balcony’s farthest railing, almost ten feet back from where they are sitting.

Callum’s lessons mostly take place on the balcony now, and it is a nice change, to learn in the open air, beneath stars or the rich blue of a summer sky. Sometimes, Rayla and Zym join them, though Callum has noticed that it only happens when they are all asleep at the same time.

Tonight, it is just Callum, as Rayla and Zym are sitting watch.

“ _This will be loud,”_ Aaravos warns, and Callum lets his own spell fade, allowing him to put his hands over his ears.

“ _Sol trabem,”_ are the words that Callum can read on his mentor’s lips and then there is a brilliant flash of light on the horizon, a thunderous roar that he can hear even beneath his hands pressing hard to his ears. Looking towards the railing, Callum can see the vines that once wound over it are scorched, falling to the ground in pieces, even as smoke rises some distance beyond the railing, a vast plume that spirals at least twenty feet upwards.

“Wow,” Callum says, lowering his hands.

“ _It is an explosive detonation of the Sun’s energy,”_ Aaravos says, _“Not one to be used without forethought. I’ve only used it here to show you what to expect and to be careful if you should need to use it.”_

“Okay,” Callum says. “Could the Sun be used for healing then, if it is life as well as destruction?”

Aaravos makes an approving hum, _“It could be,_ _though depending on who you’re trying to heal, it might be better to use the Source that is closest to them. If Rayla were injured and you wanted to heal her, for example, you would use Moon magic, or Star magic if the Moon were hidden. The Sun would not be the best option in that situation.”_

He studies Callum for a moment. _“If you were ever injured, Stars forbid it be so, then you would reach for the Stars before any other Source. It is your birthright, it will aid you if you call.”_

“What would I say?” Callum asks, “Something like heal me?”

“ _Close,”_ Aaravos says, _“nujum , ‘aetani alshafa’. Stars, give me healing.”_

Callum sounds out the words, slowly, carefully. “It doesn’t sound much like the other Stars spell you taught me. Why’s that?”

“ _Different language,”_ Aaravos says. _“But now that you are learning our people’s tongue, I shall teach you the proper wording. Inlustris becomes mada’ bialnujum.”_

“A lot more complicated then,” Callum says. “Why didn’t I learn it that way before?”

“ _I did not know of your blood then,”_ Aaravos says quietly. _“We share blood in common,Sihr. It would be dishonest of me to not teach you of our people’s culture and history. Our language is rarely spoken openly in the waking world, I would be honored if you would share it with the world once more.”_

“Though I can’t speak your name still,” Callum says.

“ _It would be unwise,”_ Aaravos says softly and there is a darkness in his bright eyes, a sudden hardness that makes Callum worried. Against his chest, beneath his shirt, the pendant is neither cold nor hot, a reassurance that he does not walk within a nightmare.

Callum frowns. “Will you tell me why one day?”

Aaravos studies him for a long, long moment, and Callum wonders if he’s considering possibilities, scrying the future as all Startouch elves can.

Callum has never seen a scrying performed, though Aaravos had once described it as combing through the threads of the world’s history, to find what you need to know.

“ _I-I will,”_ Aaravos says, and though his voice shakes, it is a promise that Callum knows he will honor.

* * *

 

It takes time, longer than Aaravos would like to find the words that he can share with Callum, speaking of the past, particularly of Elarion, when the corruption she had created still gnaws at him, is...difficult.

Even telling Sarai had been easier, though perhaps that was because she was older, more experienced in the world than Callum was.

So it is much later when Aaravos feels ready.

The moon shines high above the tower, stars glinting in the ebony dark, and seated on the smooth stones, Aaravos leans back against the wall, taking a deep breath to steady himself. He is as ready as he will ever be, at least for this discussion.

 _“Sihr?”_ he calls, and his son turns from his examination of a flowering moon lily by the railing.

Aaravos beckons Callum to him, pulling him into a hug that Callum returns.

“Aaravos? What is it?” Callum asks.

“ _You asked me,”_ Aaravos says, _“How I came to this place, why I am held here.”_

Callum nods.

“ _The first apprentice I ever took was named Elarion, a human girl who came to me, eager to learn, and she, like you, Sihr, had an instinctive grasp for magic._

“ _For years she studied, but her slow learning angered her, for she wished to cast as swiftly as I did. So she sought another way. She left my tutelage and traveled, seeking knowledge, and she found it-”_

Aaravos pauses, remembering.

“ _The tiniest scrap of knowledge, and she would need more power than she ever possessed to make it into reality, to spread it farther than we elves could have ever dreamed. And she knew exactly where to find that power._

“ _What you must understand, Sihr, is that we elves are **made** of magic. It created us, it binds us to the Sources. Without it we are shapeless, without form. To undo that working, that sacred creation, is to murder our very souls, casting us into nothingness, unbinding us from our ancestors, dooming us to never walk the world again. It is...horrific. An act of unfathomable hatred._

“ _And yet, it is what she did,”_ Aaravos stops, and again he can see her face. Her eyes, bright beneath the light of the moon, her hands pressed to his chest, wrenching free his heart as the tears ran down her cheeks. _“She came to me, greeted me as one returning home from a long journey. I suspected that she had found something, but did not press her. I embraced her, and she cast her spell, the first spell of the **Dark** , and tore my magic from my heart._

“ _She left me there, fleeing into the night while I lay dying-”_ Aaravos stops again, pressing one hand to his chest. He can feel the corruption in there throb, hot and painful at the very thought of Elarion’s treachery. _“My screams brought others running and another of my people was able to save my life, though it was many moons before I could even move._

“ _By then, news of Elarion’s magic had reached our Council of Elders and they hunted her down, executed her and then came for me. They blamed me for her discovery of Dark magic and condemned me to the tower, a realm apart from the waking world._

“ _This place,”_ Aaravos says softly, _“is meant to be my grave someday.”_

Curled into Aaravos’s embrace, his head leaning against Aaravos’s shoulder, Callum looks stricken at the words, but there is a stubborn determination building in his eyes, and Aaravos thinks that Callum looks so much like Sarai, carries so much of his mother’s hardheadedness and tenacity.

If anyone, he thinks quietly, could ever figure out a successful escape plan, it might be Callum. With his power and will, there would be little the wards would account for.

Aaravos no longer has the power to even try to breach the wards again.

His power is waning, and Aaravos prays to the Stars that it will last long enough for him to teach Callum how to connect to each Source. He has learned Sun, Moon, Stars, Sky, and Earth readily enough; only the Ocean remains and Aaravos has the sense that that Source will be the hardest for his son to master.

“Have you tried to get out before?” Callum asks.

“ _Once,”_ Aaravos says, _“It did not end well. I was badly injured and part of the tower was destroyed in the attempt.”_

He remembers waking to the scent of blood and fire, his vision hazy, the taste of iron heavy on his tongue, confusion thick as a fog in his mind.

It’s strange to still remember both the fog and Sarai at the same time, a sort of dissonance that he tries not to think about too often.

“Do you think I could try?” Callum asks, “to get you out, I mean?”

“ _I-I do not want you to hurt yourself in the attempt, Sihr,”_ Aaravos says. _“The last time was...rather explosive...”_

Callum winces. “I could shield?”

“ _Yes, but you do not know how to dismantle wards yet, Sihr,”_ Aaravos says.

“Then teach me,” Callum says, “I want to help.”

“ _Oh little najima,”_ Aaravos says, hugging him again, feeling tears spring to his eyes. His son knows not what hope he offers him. _“I fear there is little you could do.”_

“Let me try, Aaravos,” Callum pleads, “You can’t tell me all of this and not let me try to free you!”

Aaravos looks down at his son, finding for the first time, some of his own features reflected back at him; he wonders how he never saw them before.

Callum has the same high cheekbones, the same long lashes, the same proud set to his shoulders that Aaravos has seen as a glimpse in his mirror as he walks by each morning.

 _Stars,_ all Aaravos wants is to be free, to be able to walk beside his son in the waking world, but...he remembers that roar of flame, the sound of Sarai screaming, the terrible crack of his head against stone and- _he can’t._

_This is his **son.** His precious child, he cannot allow him to come to harm._

“Aaravos,” Callum says, and there is a sharpness to his son’s voice that makes Aaravos start. “I know I’m young, but you’ve said before that I’m powerful, let me help you. You’re like family to me-”

And oh, how Aaravos’s wounded heart aches at those words, _but we_ _ **are**_ _family._

“ _-_ and I want to see you free of this place,” Callum says.

Across the years, Sarai’s voice comes back to Aaravos, sharp as her son’s **“-I leave no one behind-I will not leave you alone again-”**

Aaravos sighs. Like mother, like son.

“ _If anything goes ill,”_ he warns Callum, _“I will make you wake up. I won’t take risks with your safety.”_

“Okay,” Callum says, satisfaction clear on his young face. “Now teach me how to dismantle wards, Aaravos.”


	14. To unwind a Spider's web

Aaravos pulls a piece of parchment to him, carefully drawing out the ward lines of the tower with a piece of thin charcoal. Aaravos knows the lines by heart now, delicate and yet intricately woven, strong with the magic of more than twenty mages.

“ _These are the wards,”_ Aaravos says quietly, _“Drawn by some of our most powerful mages, they prevent my leaving. Wards are...not quite battle lines, as you might see on the field, but shields, barriers and the like. They may serve as warnings or alarms if needed. However, if drawn in the way they are here, they serve as confinement rather than protection.”_

Callum studies them. “They don’t look very strong though, they’re really thin.”

“ _They **look** weak,” _Aaravos murmurs. _“I assure you, little najima, they are anything but. The key to dismantling the wards, is to know their casting rituals. Failing knowing that, then it is to counter the intent with which they were cast and laid down.”_

“Do you know the rituals?” Callum asks.

“ _I do not,”_ Aaravos says, though he has made a haphazard guess before, much to his sorrow. _“I was unconscious while the Council’s mages wove my prison, only to be awakened before my sentence was carried out. I was as weak as a child, nearly drained of my magic, and still they feared me.”_

Callum is quiet, “So our other option is to counter the intent?”

“ _Correct,”_ Aaravis says. _“I would recommend Sky as your source, for it is freedom, and that is what you seek.”_

It is also the first Source that Callum reached for, when he was learning on his own. A mage’s first source was always their strongest, and Aaravos mourns that Stars was not the first one that his son reached for.

Aaravos will always be the strongest with Stars, whereas Callum will always be strongest with Sky. It is merely the way of things.

“ _All wards stem from an anchor, a focal point where the wards are the strongest. When I...attempted my escape, I aimed for one of the farther points, where the power was weaker.”_

It had helped that time, that Sarai had been there, a blind spot that the wards did not seem to notice. Aaravos pauses, wondering.

Was Callum a blind spot as well?

He had to be, the wards would have reacted otherwise. Casting from a blind spot, Aaravos thinks, that could be… _yes_

“ _The wards are anchored to the rune circle in the study,”_ Aaravos says quietly. _“But I would not cast from there. The wards are at their strongest at the center, here,”_ he taps the spot gently with his charcoal stick.

The wards have actually shifted over time, and the disastrous escape attempt had only further tightened their intricate weaving. Aaravos studies the wards he’s drawn out, trying to pinpoint the weakest part.

“ _Perhaps here,”_ he says, circling a small section, _“or here.”_

“Is there a way to see them? Like visibly?” Callum asks, frowning over the sketch.

Aaravos hums softly, considering and reaching out, silently asks the Stars to illuminate the threads of power that keep him captive here.

Thin strands appear, one by one, forming a glittering spider’s web that envelops the tower, vanishing through the stone to anchor to the rune circle in the study.

They are still beautiful, Aaravos thinks, as all deadly things are.

“Oh,” Callum breathes, “they’re like strands of starlight, like Omma’s cloak.”

Omma, Aaravos knows, is the Goddess of Fate, lover of Jahara, the Warrior Goddess whom Sarai had said had created the world. It was said that Omma stood guard over Jahara while She slept and would one day awaken the goddess when the time came for the world to begin again.

“ _Omma’s cloak was also woven from darkness as well as starlight,”_ Aaravos says, _“and on the nights when there is no moon, it is said that Omma has cast Her cloak over the moon to hide its light, and test the faith of the creations of Her beloved Jahara.”_

“You know the story then?” Callum asks.

“ _I know many stories, abnay,”_ Aaravos says. _“I learned that one when I was younger. Katolisian traditions are not unknown to me.”_

Callum seems to ponder that for a moment, “So did you hear it from Elarion? Was she from Katolis? Or what became Katolis?”

“ _She was from what would have become Katolis, yes,”_ Aaravos says. It is merely chance that it was so, but for now, the half-truth will do.

Callum nods, accepting this.

Aaravos wonders if he will have the strength to speak of the truth to Callum, to sweep away this web of half-truths and lies. He is afraid of Callum’s reaction, in all honesty, and so very afraid of being abandoned and left alone.

Perhaps his fears are foolish, and his son will not pull away and reject him, but despite the advice that Aaravos had once given Callum, he cannot follow through with it himself.

Years in solitude have left their mark, and though Aaravos has managed to hide it relatively well, he is on shaky footing mentally now, the darker parts of his mind speaking more often than he’d like.

The corruption is increasing; he’s seen its mark, the constellation that once spanned his shoulder blades is missing, the stars blotted out, leaving blank skin behind. Cold numbness weaves up his spine, settles across his shoulders like a cloak.

He can’t feel hardly anything there, only the faintest of pressures.

“If the wards are anchored,” Callum says, pulling his attention back to the present, “then couldn’t they be untied? Like, an anchor is tied to a rope, right? So if you want to get the rope back, you have to untie the anchor. In a way, you’re freeing the rope or the anchor, so maybe all I need is a spell to untie a rope.”

* * *

 

For a moment, Callum thinks he might have accidentally broken Aaravos.

The man seems almost frozen in place.

“ _Stars, is it really that simple?”_ Aaravos asks quietly, disbelief plain on his features. _“It couldn’t have been that easy, could it?”_ and there is such grief that crosses his face, such abject agony, that Callum must look away.

And something clicks for Callum, another piece of the complex and intricate puzzle that is Aaravos.

He’s spoken of a wife before, Zahrati, and the grief Callum sees now is identical to the look that he’d seen on Aaravos’s face when he’d spoken of her.

A disastrous escape attempt... _“It did not end well. I was badly injured and part of the tower was destroyed in the attempt,”_ Aaravos had said, expression pained.

“ _I remember now,”_ Aaravos had said, tears gleaming down his dark face, “ _I was wed once, to a young woman who was kind and fierce. And I remember that she was lost to me.”_

“ _I forgot her, how could I have forgotten her? She was like spring, sweeping away the darkness of winter.”_

A head injury would certainly explain memory loss...

“You...weren’t alone in here when you tried to escape that first time, were you?” Callum says, the words slipping out before he can stop them.

Aaravos flinches but shakes his head. _“I was not. My Zahrati, s-she was here with me for a time._ _Together we_ _found a way through the wards and_ _managed to open a portal out. My wife made it through; I did not. The wards exploded before I_ _could reach her_ _and I made the decision to shield her rather than myself...I know little of what became of her after...save that she died saving another’s life...”_

He pauses and sighs shakily, _“The wards became much tighter after_ _the explosion_ _.”_

Aaravos is silent for a long moment, and Callum can see how he is struggling to maintain calm, though he does at last manage it.

“ _fak khayt,”_ Aaravos murmurs and the air shivers once, a sense of foreboding skittering down Callum’s spine. _“It is the spell you will need to begin unraveling the wards. One thread at a time, Sihr, for I fear to go any quicker would be disastrous.”_

“How many threads are there?” Callum asks, looking down at the ward diagram.

“ _42,”_ Aaravos says, _“though it looks like more due to how they loop around each other. These type of wards are called spider’s web wards, because of how they appear as a spider’s web. This one was woven by more than twenty skilled mages, five of whom were Archmages.”_

“Could you tell me which threads are the Archmages?” Callum asks.

Aaravos hums softly, and Callum watches as his mentor’s eyes flare white with power and then twenty eight lines of the wards that Callum can see above them light up in various colors.

“ _The blue is Elleth, the red Canna, yellow Samos, violet Ladwyr, and green Phyris. Canna was the strongest after me, so she led the effort, and the wards bear more of her power than the others. Six of us there were once, the brightest of our people, and we allied together, one Archmage from each of race of elves._

_Ladwyr was closest to me, and I taught her how to reach the Startouch Arcaneum; in return she taught me how to use Moonshadow Arcaneum. Though I had already reached it before, I struggled with that Source, and having someone who knew from birth how to use it helped.”_

“She was a Moonshadow elf then?” Callum asks.

“ _Yes. Ladwyr was close in age with myself and Samos, we were among the youngest of the Archmages. Phyris was the eldest, and they remembered the world when it was first formed, still green and new._

_Canna and I never got along. She was a Sunfire elf, and as loud and brash as a volcanic eruption. It was she, I think, who discovered my teaching magic to Elarion and brought it to the council’s attention._

_Ladwyr knew of it, but never said a word. Her wards,”_ Aaravos gestures towards the violet lines, _“are filled with a sorrow so deep that is clings to each strand. I do not think she cast those willingly or at the very least cast them under intense pressure.”_

“Do you think that I should start with hers first?” Callum asks, “If she didn’t cast willingly, then they should be more...um...wanting to be free?”

Aaravos hums softly, clearly thinking, his gaze distant.

“ _Yes,”_ he says, _“Yes, I think that is a good idea, Sihr.”_

Callum looks up at the violet threads and imagines reaching out to touch one, seeing it as a simple knot, needing only a small tug to pull free.

“ _fak khayt,”_ Callum says, imagining the knot come loose, seeing it fall away. One thread vanishes, a distant clap of thunder echoing as it does.

Aaravos gasps.

Callum looks over to see his mentor’s hands pressed to his mouth, eyes wide. There are tears trickling down his cheeks.

“ _Keep going, abnay,”_ Aaravos breathes.

Callum looks up to the wards, finding the next violet strand, visualizing it coming loose, watching it vanish in another thunderclap. Ladwyr’s wards number only four in total and they all fall to Callum’s spell.

“Okay,” Callum says, grinning, “Which one is next?”

“ _Try Samos’s. The yellow threads,”_ Aaravos says, his voice hushed. _“Be careful, Sihr.”_

Callum reaches out to the yellow threads, and one by one, they vanish. There is a tingle along his skin, making the hair on his arms stand up, as if a thunderstorm is coming.

Thunder booms louder, lightning flaring through the gathering clouds.

It’s _working_. Callum grins despite the growing unease that sits in his stomach.

“The blue next?” Callum asks, already reaching out for the glimmering threads, tugging one free and then there is a sharp crack from the other end of the balcony as a stone planter shatters, shards of rock hurtling past Callum as a gleaming arcane barrier forms around them.

Another planter shivers and cracks in two, a hurricane whirling into being around the tower.

Aaravos’s arms tighten around Callum, holding him close.

“ _Wake up, my little najima,”_ he whispers, and the words are a half-sob. _“Wake up.”_

And the world explodes into searing white light-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to Moondancer over on ff.net for all of her help. Without her, I really would be lost.  
> Thank you all for your support and kind words this far, I hope you like where this story goes!


	15. Tarnished Silver

There is gleaming white stone above him, glittering with starlight. Bone-pale branches brush against the stone, laden with silver leaves, rustling in a faint wind.

Callum blinks, sitting upright. Where was he? What had happened?

His head is aching and feels oddly heavy.

He wobbles as he stands up, and he puts a hand to his head. Something hard brushing against his fingertips…

Cautiously, he reaches up with both hands, and gasps aloud, the sound echoing.

_Horns._

A pool of water rests a few feet away and Callum staggers over to it, dropping to his knees beside it and looking down.

A stranger looks back at him, an elf with dark, star-speckled skin, star markings beneath his eyes, which gleam leaf-green, sclera black as night. Dark horns curl up from brown hair.

“ _Oh, shit,”_ Callum breathes.

The words are strangely foreign to him, sounds that he’s not heard before.

 _He’s not speaking common._ The thought occurs to him, and it is as if something misaligned has clicked back into its proper place, a gear turning against another, a cog in one great mechanism.

“What the hell?!” Callum says, hearing the words aloud as both common and what he’s suddenly coming to understand as Startouch elvish.

“You’re new,” a voice says, and Callum can _understand it,_ “I haven’t see you here before.”

There’s an odd disconnect, as Callum glances up to find another elf beside him. He’s small, shorter than Ezran, even.

But the branching horns are familiar, though they are shorter, as are the golden eyes that study him, curiosity gleaming in their depths.

“ _Aaravos?!”_ Callum squeaks.

“Nope,” the child says, grinning widely. He’s missing a tooth, his pale hair short, just brushing the collar of the blue tunic he wears, a small silver torc resting around his throat, his dark feet bare and speckled with glittering stars.

“ _Little one, what have I told you about telling lies?”_ another voice calls, and it is far more like the Aaravos that Callum knows, though there is an accent there that Callum cannot hear in the child’s voice, all rounded vowels, soft and smooth.

“Is not a lie,” the child says, pouting.

“ _It is a half-truth, then,”_ the voice continues, and the tall figure of Aaravos appears as if from nowhere beside them. _“And those can be far worse than simple lies.”_

The elf is robed in shimmering robes, horns crowned in silver, bracelets of shining gold at his wrists. He walks barefoot, and Callum can see how the star that Callum has only ever seen as a mere outline, is whole, a brilliant glow against Aaravos’s chest.

“You look different,” Callum says, standing and hating how he wobbles around like a newborn calf.

“ _I am different,”_ Aaravos acknowledges. _“You were not meant to be here, child,”_ his eyes are completely white, not a trace of gold to be seen. _“We are but parts of the greater whole, separate in a way that we should not be. Once we could have returned ourselves but now we have lost the way.”_

In the distance, Callum hears the sudden sound of crumbling stone, followed by a loud splash as if something heavy has dropped into water.

“ _And other dangers lurk now within the star-tower,”_ Aaravos says ominously.

“So you’re parts of Aaravos’s mind?” Callum asks, “I’m stuck in his head?!”

“More or less,” the child chirps. “It’s nicer up here though.”

“Up here?” Callum asks.

“ _The upper levels are more...safe,”_ Aaravos says.

Callum looks between the two elves. “Okay, if you’re not exactly Aaravos, what do I call you?”

“Starshine!” the child says, giggling.

“ _Morning Star,”_ the adult says, and the name has a physical weight to it, heavy with power.

Callum looks at him, realizing, “You’re him before, when he was Archmage.”

“ _Correct,”_ Morning Star says, _“the height of our power. Before Elarion’s treachery tore us from our beloved Xadia.”_

“Do you know why I...” Callum gestures at himself, suddenly lost for words.

“ _You look as you were meant to,”_ Morning Star says, _“As ourself forsaw, and so our mind reflects that reality that is not as it should be.”_

A rumble shakes the ground beneath them, and Starshine tugs at Morning Star’s robes, and the elf lifts him up, the child clinging to his neck.

“What _is_ beneath us?” Callum asks.

“ _Water mostly,”_ Morning Star says. _“Mostly.”_

“Mostly?” Callum echoes.

“The creepy one is down there,” Starshine says, idly weaving a braid into Morning Star’s hair, “we don’t like him.”

“ _He means Corruption,”_ Morning Star adds, _“He usually stays on the lower levels, but with our mind being what it is, things are...breaking.”_

“Breaking? What do you mean breaking?!” Callum demands.

Morning Star studies him. _“We are old, Sihr,”_ he says, and Callum’s name has a sharp ring to it, an echo that is not present when Aaravos himself usually says it. _“We are old, and Elarion left behind a darkness when she tore free our heart. A seed of that darkness has been growing within us ever since, and it is our punishment that it must devour us at the end.”_

“That’s...awful!” Callum says, and Morning Star shrugs.

“ _It is the way of things,”_ he says. _“Though you have kindled hope, and perhaps it will not be our fate after all.”_

“Not if I have anything to say about it,” Callum says fiercely. “You said you’d lost your way, if I help you to find a way back, what happens next?”

“ _I do not know,”_ Morning Star admits.

“Something fun!” Starshine says, grinning.

“ _Your definition of fun, is not **my** definition of fun,” _Morning Star says with a sigh. _“Rejoining us with the greater whole will aid him in healing, possibly.”_

An echoing shriek comes from below, a wail that sends shivers down Callum’s spine.

“ _And Corruption will be **purified**.”_

Callum doesn’t like how Morning Star says the word, a kind of dark relish to his tone.

A great crashing of stone followed by another splash resounds in the distance as another rumble shakes the tower.

“ _Come,”_ Morning Star says, turning away, _“We will lead you to where the path became a maze, and we will see if can aid us.”_

“Why is this place collapsing now?” Callum asks as they move, “why not earlier?”

“ _You gave us strength,”_ Morning Star says, _“A determination that lit a long-dimmed fire. We would not go as long as you had need of us.”_

“But we don’t have much choice now,” Starshine says quietly, far too solemn, Callum thinks, for any child, human or elf.

“ _We reached too far, shielding you from the wards and attempting to return you to your waking body was a great strain, and now our physical body lies weak and fading in the tower,”_ Morning Star says softly. _“Though we will not flee into that dark night without a fight. If we die now, we condemn your mind to the same fate, while your body yet lives.”_

Callum shivers at the thought.

“ _This way,”_ Morning Star says, and Callum follows, still wobbling.

Morning Star catches his arm with his free hand and guides him.

“Why am I so off-balance?” Callum says exasperatedly some time later, after he’s almost fallen over for what has to be the twentieth time, “I mean, they’re horns, Rayla doesn’t have any trouble with this!”

“ _She was born with them, little one,”_ Morning Star says, _“She has known their weight all her life; you have not.”_

They stop beside a garden that is overflowing with what Callum recognizes as sun-dew flowers, the vines spilling out onto a colorful mosaic floor.

Starshine hops down and vanishes into the greenery, and the sound of his faint humming drifts back.

Morning Star half-kneels, placing his hands either side of Callum’s forehead, pale light emanating from him. _“This should help,”_ he says quietly, _“Stay still, ab-najmay.”_

Callum registers the words as an odd clash of syllables, the first part untranslatable, even with his newfound understanding. _My star,_ is the second part, and the warmth that the endearment has makes Callum smile.

His head feels instantly lighter, and though it takes a moment to get used to, the horns aren’t nearly as heavy as they had been before.

“Thank you,” he says.

Morning Star smiles warmly, brushing the hair back from Callum’s face, thumbs just brushing the edges of Callum’s horns, an odd prickling sensation.

Starshine chooses that moment to duck back out of the garden, grinning gleefully, a smudge of dirt across his nose.

He’s wearing a hastily made flower crown and carrying two more. Silver-white and golden flowers are woven together, gleaming in the light that fills this place.

“Flower crowns!” Starshine crows.

Morning Star sighs, dropping his hands from Callum’s head. _“Really?”_

“Yes,” Starshine says, reaching up on his tip-toes to place the crown on Morning Star’s pale hair before turning to Callum.

Callum bows his head, allowing Starshine to gently place the crown.

“I crown you mage of the flowers!” he cries, giggling.

Callum grins back, “Thank you, Starshine.”

Morning Star stands, _“Come, we’ve much farther to go yet.”_

Starshine skips ahead of them until the path forwards devolves into many paths past many rooms, a maze of hallways, all arched ceilings and open spaces. It is then, that Starshine returns to walking beside Callum, one hand in his.

Further in, there is a doorway from which warm spring sunshine drifts, the scent of wildflowers light on a breeze. Callum can see a blue sky, fluffy white clouds floating aimlessly above fields of swaying flowers.

In the distance, far off, Callum can see a figure dancing through the flowers, a song caught on the wind, echoing down.

The voice is sweet and clear, the song familiar, a memory just out of reach.

“ _Zahrati,”_ Morning Star says, his voice wistful, and Callum looks up at him, though instead of painful grief, warm fondness is written across his face. _“She is singing.”_

The figure is dancing closer, ethereal and wearing a dress that glitters like the entirety of the night sky, and Callum can see now that she is holding something in her arms. A bundle.

“ _What could have been, what was lost to us long ago,”_ Starshine says, and the child’s soft smile carries a barest measure of that agonized grief that Callum has seen before.

The woman called Zahrati dances closer, closer, spinning around and around, lifting her bundle to the light, and Callum can see that it is a child, a little elf with barely visible horns, giggling happily as their mother dances.

Callum lets go of Starshine’s hand, stepping forward into the room, past the archway and suddenly the flowers are gone, Zahrati and her child vanishing like morning mist.

He stands in an empty chamber, the only sound the faintest echo of Zahrati’s song, haunting and eerie.

“There was a child?” Callum asks, turning back to look at Morning Star, who is not looking at him, though Callum can see a gleam of tears on the elf’s cheeks.

“ _He was lost to us,”_ Morning Star says and then they stand within the tower again, a bright portal gleaming as Aaravos strides towards it, reaching out and there is fire, roaring like a tempest.

Callum watches in horror as Aaravos shields the portal before he is thrown back, slamming against the opposite wall to crumple unmoving upon the stone. Blood pools beneath his head, eyelids fluttering shut. A desperate scream, Zahrati’s scream, Callum realizes, resounds as the portal slams shut with a horrific crack.

“ _Lost to us,”_ Morning Star repeats, the scene fading and they stand in an empty chamber once more. _“They both were,”_ he draws in a somewhat shaky breath, _“Come, let us not linger long here.”_

Deeper in, there is a notable doorway, cracked and oozing a thick black tar-like liquid. It seeps across the floor, and Callum can see what looks like drag marks through it, as if something has slithered past, _into_ the room. Morning Star picks up Starshine and ushers Callum quickly by, raising a finger to his lips as he does.

“What’s in there?” Callum asks after they’ve turned a few corners and the tense line of Morning Star’s shoulders has eased a little. It’s darker in this part of the maze, and Morning Star’s dim glow at least gives enough light to see a way forward.

“ _The heart of the corruption,”_ Morning Star says, and his voice is very low, _“Keep quiet, little one, for there is evil there that does not sleep. You have glimpsed it the once, and to do so again, would be to look upon the face of madness itself. You would become something terrible, I fear. And our heart would break to end your suffering. A necessary, horrible mercy.”_

Starshine is silent, his face pressed into Morning Star’s shoulder, trembling, a sight that makes Callum’s heart ache.

“Hey, Morning Star, can we stop for a bit?” Callum asks.

“ _Why?”_ Morning Star asks before he looks down at the trembling form of Starshine.

“ _Ah,”_ he says and kneels down, allowing the child’s feet to touch the floor, gently prying Starshine’s hands free from his cloak.

Starshine whimpers quietly, and reaches out this time to Callum, clinging.

“Hey,” Callum says softly, wrapping his arms around the little elf. He’s almost Ezran’s size, and so he easily fits into Callum’s embrace. “It’s okay to be scared, you know.”

“I don’t like it in here,” Starshine sniffles. “It’s too dark.”

“Well, we can make it a bit more light, okay?” Callum says, and summons a tiny orb of starlight which hovers beside Starshine’s face, and it makes his star-speckled skin glitter in the light.

“Better?” Callum asks.

“A little,” Starshine says, reaching up to touch the orb, a tiny smile flickering across his face. “Are you scared?”

“Yeah,” Callum says, “and that’s perfectly normal. I mean, I’ve never been inside someone’s mind like this, and I don’t quite know what I’m supposed to be doing, so...I’m doing the best I can with what I’ve got and sometimes that’s all you can do, even when you’re scared of the darkness around you. You can’t let fear keep you from moving forwards.”

“Oh,” Starshine says, wide-eyed and awed, watching Callum, “ _Oh,_ that’s it,” he breathes, all the fear suddenly replaced with bright and vibrant joy. “I understand now!”

“Understand what?” Callum asks.

“How to get back to ourself!” Starshine says, his small hands reaching out to pat Callum’s cheek, “Thank you, Sihr!”

Starshine turns his gaze to the archmage standing beside Callum, “Morning Star, I can see him!”

“ _See_ _ourself_ _?”_ Morning Star asks.

“Yes!” Starshine says joyfully, “Don’t wait for me!” he dashes past them and before he’s gone three steps, he vanishes in a flicker of stars.

The air lightens immediately, a sense of peace filling Callum briefly.

“ _You gave him a way past the maze,”_ Morning Star says, and as Callum looks up at him, there is an unreadable expression on his face.

“I did what I do for my little brother,” Callum says. “I helped him to see past the fear.”

Somehow, Callum gets the sense that helping Morning Star past the maze will be much harder.

“Further in, I guess?” Callum ventures.

“ _Yes,”_ Morning Star says, pausing as something resounds down the corridor they’d come from.

It sounds like a blade scraping over smooth stone, a sound that makes the hair on the back of Callum’s neck stand on end.

Morning Star’s eyes narrow, the air around him dulling to an icy chill, a barrier of pure starlight forming across the corridor.

“ _Corruption,”_ Morning Star says softly.

Black scales gleam as something vaguely humanoid emerges from the shadows, an almost ink-like fluid dripping after it. It has no legs, only a snake’s body slithering over the stones. Above the waist however, it only marginally resembles the elf standing beside Callum.

Malicious red eyes find Callum’s face, a sickening smile stretching across thin lips.

“ _ **Hello, Sihr,”**_ Corruption purrs, stretching out claw-like hands. _**“I’ve been waiting for you.”**_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As ever thank you to Moondancer5813 over on ff.net for all of her help. This chapter would not have been written without her.  
> It might be a while until the next chapter. I am moving and thusly everything will be on hold until we get all of the stuff settled. Thank you for your patience!


	16. Illumination

Callum stares at the creature, unable to look away from those glittering crimson eyes.

Morning Star hisses something under his breath and white light flares out from the shield, and Corruption recoils as a spear of purest light forms in Morning Star’s hands.

“ _Leave,”_ Morning Star commands, hefting the spear. _“This child will not be your pawn, Corrupted one.”_

“ _ **Rather rude of you,”**_ Corruption hisses, _**“Not letting Sihr speak for himself.”**_

“ _LEAVE!”_ Morning Star thunders, the word echoing, the stones beneath their feet shaking as the mage speaks.

Corruption snarls, and his claws slam into the shield, scrabbling, leaving black splotches that seems to hang in midair, smoke slowly trailing upwards.

Morning Star slams the butt of the spear into the shield, sending another wave of light outwards that knocks Corruption back a few feet.

He’s still looking at Callum, red eyes fever bright.

 ** _“Sihr _,”_ _**Corruption croons, _**“Will you not speak with me?”**_

“Why do you want to talk to me, exactly?” Callum asks, finding his words at last.

Corruption looks delighted at being addressed, and his smile seems to almost split his face, rows upon rows of sharp teeth glimmering in the light of Morning Star’s shield.

“ _ **Because, Sihr,”**_ Corruption says, tail flickering across the floor, the low scrape of metal against stone jarring to Callum’s ears. _**“I want to tell you something, something that ourself has been keeping from you. A rather nasty little secret too.”**_

“ _Don’t listen to him, najmay,”_ Morning Star growls. _“He is a deceiver, a twister of words. He will only hurt you.”_

“ _ **Says the one who is content to keep the truth hidden from him,”**_ Corruption hisses, slithering closer, ignoring the spear still pointed in his direction. Morning Star spins the weapon, an idle practiced movement that Callum dimly remembers his own mother using in the practice yard against Dad.

Morning Star steps between Callum and Corruption’s unnerving gaze.

“ _Begone, Corruption,”_ Morning Star says, voice cold. _“I would be quite happy to rend you asunder, though I would rather not traumatize Sihr doing it.”_

Callum peers around Morning Star and catches sight of Corruption’s wicked smile.

“ _ **But that’s not the only reason you want me gone, is it?”**_ Corruption says, and his eyes are fixed on Callum again. _**“You want to keep living in your comfortable web of lies, don’t you, Morning Star?Keep living in it until it inevitably strangle what’s left of you? After all, everything you’ve ever loved has been taken away from you. I wonder what would our Zah-”**_

Morning Star makes an absolutely _furious_ snarl and the resulting explosion sends Corruption hurtling backwards, slamming into the wall. _“_ _You are not worthy to speak her name!”_ Morning Star snarls, _“_ _She was a light unlike any other, beautiful and shining in a world that had become almost unbearable in its solitude!”_

“ ** _And what of our jamil? What of her fate?”_** Corruption asks, crawling out of the dent he’s been embedded in. **_“Have you forgotten what they did to her? How they made her a living ghost?!”_**

 _Jamil._ The word means ‘lovely’ Callum translates, and wonder who that might be, and how someone might become a living ghost.

Morning Star _screams_ , the barrier shattering as the elf dives forwards, spear arching downwards.

Corruption weaves out of the way, dodging each blow that the enraged Morning Star aims at his head, continuing to taunt him.

“ _ **And she did nothing to deserve it, except to know us, to know of Elarion, and for that she was condemned as much as we were. And it’s all your fault,”**_ Corruption cackles, _**“Not mine, no, that was all you.”**_

Morning Star is glowing, incandescent with rage, and his light drives away the shadows, sears Callum’s eyes so that he must look away, and there’s the sound of something exploding, a detonation that shakes the ground.

Callum braces for the impact but nothing comes.

He looks back.

Someone stands in front of him, a figure dressed in reds and golds, hazy around the edges, translucent and radiant-

Callum reaches out, squinting, trying to make out features, then the figure is gone.

The scent of spring flowers lingers, and beyond, Morning Star towers over the fallen Corruption, spear raised, blade point about to descend.

Something terrible is about to happen, and Callum doesn’t know what to do, so he does the only thing he can.

“Morning Star!” he shouts, “You can’t kill him! He’s a part of you!”

Callum isn’t sure how he knows it, but he knows, without a doubt, that Morning Star _cannot_ kill Corruption-to do so would be ruinous.

“ _He is no part of me!”_ Morning Star growls, and brings the blade down, only for the spear’s shaft to snap as Corruption lunges with his claws.

Corruption grabs the falling blade and shoves the shining metal into Morning Star’s chest.

“ _ **Death comes to all in time, Morning Star,”**_ Corruption croons, sliding the blade free and lets him drop, limp, to the ground.

The sound of Morning Star’s quiet cry of pain as he impacts is one of the worst sounds that Callum has ever heard. White light is spilling out of the wound, shimmering like a heat haze.

Corruption laughs, tossing the blade away. The laugh is harsh, grating against Callum’s ears. The corridor is rapidly becoming dimmer, the light fading away as the shadows seem to swell, rising to cover the walls.

He runs past the laughing Corruption and kneels beside Morning Star. He’s still breathing, and Jahara have mercy, there is so _much_ blood. Morning Star bleeds just like Callum does, bright and red. Callum wants to scream, but the sound is trapped inside him, unable to get free.

“ _Abnay?”_ Morning Star rasps, sounding confused. _My son._

“I’m right here,” Callum says, and his heart is crying to hear the words, he’s never known his father, but Aaravos is as dear to him as Harrow was.

“ _ **You can’t save him,”**_ Corruption says, lurking behind Callum now. _**“Let him fade.”**_

Morning Star grips Callum’s hands, surprising him with how strong the elf actually is.

“I’m right here, M-Alab,” Callum says, and the word feels...strange, almost weightless on his tongue.

“ _Your mother-”_ Morning Star says, gasping, _“She would be so proud of you.”_

Callum nods, blinking away tears, “I know.”

“ _She loved you,”_ Morning Star continues, eyes fixed on Callum’s face, _“From the moment we knew, she loved you. More than anything. I should have-”_ he chokes on the words, blood gurgling. _“I should have told you sooner, I should have-”_

There is an odd calm settling over Callum, as if Mom has taken him into her arms again, warmth filling him. _“nujum’ shafa’uh,”_ Callum says, more sure of this than anything else in his life and presses his hands to that terrible wound.

 _Heal him, O Stars. O mighty Omma, Lady of Fate,_ Callum prays, _It is not his time yet. Heal him, Lady, please._

“ _ **All things must end, Sihr,”**_ Corruption says, voice sickly sweet in his ear, a claw tightening on his shoulder, _**“Let this relic of old stay in the past, where he belongs.”**_

Callum ignores him, and lets the power flow through him, warm and bright as the dawn.

“ _I love you, my little star,” his mother’s shade whispers in his mind, “I always, always will.”_

 _I know, Mom,_ Callum thinks, and takes that thought and lets it disperse through the spell. _I love you too._

The light of his spell is opalescent, and Callum watches as the grievous wound seals up, some color returning to Morning Star’s face. The hallways are brightening too, light returning.

 _“Sihr,”_ Morning Star says, and his voice is clear, though perhaps it trembles slightly. He sits up, slowly, studying Callum.

He’s still gripping Callum’s hands.

Callum takes a shaky breath. There are thoughts whirling around in his head, a hurricane of puzzle pieces that are only now clicking together. One after the other, forming a truth that turns his world upside down once more.

“ _A Startouch elf, like myself, for only we shine so beneath the moon and stars, reflecting the magic that we were born with.”_

“ _You gave me back a precious gift I did not even know I had, little najima.”_

“ _It is the name that your father might have given you upon your birth. We divine our children’s names from the stars themselves and though your mother, Sarai, named you Callum, Sihr, is the name that speaks to your soul.”_

“ _I would rather cut out what is left of my heart than harm you, Sihr!”_

“ _Oh, little najima, I could never hurt you. Never in ten thousand years.”_

‘ _Words of the hands speak louder than the voice.’_

“ _Zahrati was the name she carried, the flower that blooms in springtime, and we were wed in the same season, for she wished to walk beside me for all of our time in this world, and I desired the same.”_

“ _We share blood in common, Sihr.”_

“ _My Zahrati, s-she was here with me for a time. Together we found a way through the wards and managed to open a portal out. My wife made it through; I did not...I made the decision to shield her rather than myself...I know little of what became of her after...save that she died saving another’s life...”_

“ _Your father,” Mom had said, and in his memory she is teary-eyed. “He protected us. Neither of us would have lived if he hadn’t. He...he loved you very much, Callum.”_

_Callum, Sihr, Abnay, Abnay, Abnay._

Callum knows what that word means and it rings through his mind like a temple bell, deep and sonorous.

_My son._

And somewhere deep inside his heart, he knows the words to be truth.

_Aaravos IS his father. ‘iinah ‘abi. He is his father._

So many emotions swirl inside him, relief, anger, worry, excitement-and still Morning Star has not let go of his hands.

“ _ **He lied to you, Sihr,”**_ Corruption purrs in his ear. _**“He knew all this time, and still he lied to you.”**_

“Did you know?” Callum asks, ignoring Corruption, “When we met, did you know?!” the words come out sharper than he’d intended.

Morning Star shakes his head.

“ _We did not,”_ Morning Star says, _“We knew you were something special, unseen by the world before now. We taught you because we wanted to share our knowledge, to do some good for a world that has long since abandoned us. We remembered much later, in no small part due to your actions. Blood calls to blood,”_ Morning Star says, _“and blood answers. Your Silence, though unintentional, freed my memories from their bindings. We knew then who you were.”_

“ _ **And lied to your face,”**_ Corruption adds.

Morning Star looks annoyed, but nods, conceding the point. _“I was...afraid, Sihr._ _I wanted to tell you, but...I didn’t know what to say, how to even begin to tell you the truth.”_

Corruption growls, nails biting into Callum’s shoulder.

Callum shrugs off his claw, leaning forward, staring into Morning Star’s bright eyes.

And Callum understands that fear, how hard it is to tell someone that which would change their life forever. Callum certainly knows it.

Which is why he can forgive his...his... _father_...for not telling him.

“I...I’m still mad, that you didn’t tell me,” Callum says, his voice shaky and unsteady.

Morning Star nods, and there are tears in his eyes, _“_ _Understandable.”_

“But I’m so, so glad that I _found_ you,” Callum says, and his vision blurs as he begins to cry. Morning Star lets go of his hands, and hugs him, holding him close, and Callum can feel how he too is shaking.

Time passes, how long exactly Callum cannot say, as he sobs, held safe within his father’s arms but at last the tears run dry.

Morning Star is humming softly, the same tune that Mom had hummed at bedtime when Callum was very small. Callum pulls slightly back and he can see that Morning Star’s face is tearstained, dark rivulets down his cheeks, though he is no longer crying.

Corruption is nearby, but nowhere near as close as he had been.

“ **Done with your touching moment?”** Corruption hisses over his shoulder. There is still an aura of malice about him, and Callum gets the sudden sense that he’s waiting for the right moment to cause more problems.

Morning Star flicks one hand in Corruption’s direction, light flaring from his palm and there is a yelp of pain.

“ **Bastard,”** Corruption snarls, whirling towards them, smoking oozing from a gap in his scales.

“ _Such a pity that I cannot destroy you as I’d so like,”_ Morning Star says, _“For our son does speak truth, that we are facets of a larger whole, bound to one ending and one beginning.”_

“He is a part of you,” Callum adds, “Darkness does not exist without light. You may not like him, and he may not like you, but he is a part of you. Twisted, I guess, by other magic but he at his heart is still you. If he dies, you will never be the same. The same goes for you,” Callum says, looking at Corruption. “You need his light. Without it, you will be lost, even more than you already are.”

Corruption gives a low growl, slithering closer so he once again leans over Callum.

“ **What makes you think that I _care_ if he is gone?” **Corruption asks, red eyes glittering with a terrible hunger. **“I don’t need him anyway.”**

Callum reaches out and grabs Corruption’s claw, taking Morning Star’s hand with his other.

“You are the two parts of a greater whole. You are meant to stand together, not fight each other,” Callum says firmly.

Morning Star looks away, mouth twisting into a scowl.

“Put aside your pride, Morning Star,” Callum says, “Please.”

“ **You say that like he can,”** Corruption says scornfully, hissing the words, though he hasn’t pulled away from Callum yet.

“Morning Star, _Alab,_ please,” Callum says. “For me.”

Morning Star looks at him, and that hard gaze softens just the slightest.

“ _I will try, abnay,”_ he says.

Callum smiles, because he knows now what he has to do. The knowledge sits like a crown of starlight about his head. Ethereal, brilliant and warm as the dawn of summer.

There is one deity, that Callum knows that governs light and its fading, the realms of dusk and of dawn. The ever-gleaming one, they-who-walk-without-fear, Ahndaratha, Deity of Light and Shadows, of hope and of balance.

Callum remembers Mom talking of Ahndaratha, of how They were the sibling of Omma and child of the Ancient Goddess, Imani, the One who existed as the Darkness between the worlds.

It is from Imani, Callum knows, that all the gods were formed.

Ahndaratha is the Law-bringer, the one who weighs the scales at the end of all lives to determine their worthiness to pass on.

Callum closes his eyes, and prays to his mother’s gods for his father’s salvation, to bring balance and peace to his fractured soul.

He can feel it, Light welling up like a spring inside him, as if he channels the very Stars that his father had said had created the world. Callum prays to the Stars, _alnujum , shifa' waldi._ _Please, I beg you, heal my father._

 _You already have the Power to heal him, little one,_ a voice inside his head says, and it almost sounds like Mom. _Let it free._

And Callum does, lets that glowing Light free, and it is as if a dam has broken, warmth rushing away from him, leaving him somewhat cold.

Morning Star’s hand is tight on his and Callum hears a sharp gasp from Corruption before his claw is jerked away from Callum’s.

Callum opens his eyes.

Morning Star is still there, eyes wide, staring past Callum.

In Corruption’s place, stands Aaravos, with stark, _black_ eyes. Shadows curl about his boots, robes of darkest ebony cloaking him. His pale hair is braided tightly back, a torc of silver and lapis lazuli at his throat. He studies Callum intently.

“Did it work?” Callum manages to ask after a tense moment of silence.

“ _It did,”_ Morning Star says quietly. _“You said that Corruption was still me at his heart. You are looking at what lay beneath the darkness.”_

“ **That is correct,”** the black-eyed Aaravos says, and his voice is smooth, soft shadow. **“Thank you, Sihr,”** he says, offering him an almost courtly bow.

“What do I call you then?” Callum asks.

“ **Shadowdancer,”** he says. **“Shall we be going, Morning Star? It has been a rather long time since we’ve seen ourself proper.”**

Morning Star stands, letting go at last of Callum’s hands as he pulls him to his feet.

“ _Yes,”_ Morning Star says, _“We shall.”_

He looks at Callum, warm and fond, and Callum smiles back.

“ _Be well, little one,”_ Morning Star says, before both he and Shadowdancer vanish in a flicker of light.

The hallway seems to fold around Callum and then he’s standing on a hill, a vast starry sky overhead.

The stars are glittering points of light, wheeling overhead, and Callum walks, stopping to watch them every so often.

He is so distracted by the sight, that he stumbles over something, and looking down, he realizes just who he’s nearly fallen over.

“Ala-Aaravos?”

Aaravos, dressed as Callum has always known him, hair plaited back, is staring up at the stars, golden eyes half-lidded.

 _“Sihr,”_ Aaravos says softly and Callum kneels down beside him, flopping over on his back to watch the stars.

“I forgive you, _Alab,_ ” Callum says, and the elvish words flow off his tongue like a river, warm and sweet as honey, “For not telling me.”

Aaravos is silent, though his head turns, and he is crying softly, reaching out to enfold Callum in a tight embrace.

Callum holds on just as tightly, and the tears come again.

“ _Oh, my little Sihr,”_ Aaravos whispers. _“How can you forgive such deceit? Even from me?”_

“Because I understand,” Callum says, hands fisted in his father’s robes. “I know how hard it can be to tell someone something that will change their life forever. I _know_ that.”

Aaravos gives a great shuddering sigh, and says nothing more for a very long time.

At last he pulls away, studying Callum, a look of sorrow and regret on his face.

“ _Look at you,”_ Aaravos says quietly, carding one hand through Callum’s hair. _“As you should be. The unbroken truth of your soul, Sihr.”_

“It’ll be strange to not have horns when I wake up,” Callum says, trying to lighten the mood.

Aaravos’s eyes grow dark for a moment and he sits up, pulling Callum with him.

“ _You should not linger here long, my son,”_ he says and Callum’s heart is singing to hear the words, to know the truth that has long been hidden in shadow.

“Will you be alright now that Corruption is gone?” Callum asks. “Morning Star said that you were...breaking...” he falters, words trailing away.

“ _I am...stronger now, for your help,”_ Aaravos says. _“But my power is still waning, though I will not yet fade.”_

“I won’t let you,” Callum says, and the words are sharp, heavy with power that Callum barely yet understands. A vow that he means with every fiber of his being. “I will save you, father.”

Aaravos’s eyes widen, and he bows his head, resting his forehead against Callum’s, hands on his shoulders.

“ _Oh, my child,”_ he says gently, softly, his voice barely trembling, _“my_ _dear_ _Sihr, you already_ _ **have**_ _.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And I LIVE!!  
> Wow, it's been a while. On the other hand, this might be the last update for a while, due to work eating all of my time and brain power.  
> I hope to have the next chapter out before Halloween but we'll see. Thank you all for your support and I hope you stick around to see where the story goes from here!  
> Additional note: If you're re-reading the fic, you may have noticed a name change. An eagle-eyed reader pointed out that the Arabic word for magic is in fact, Sihr, so adjustments have been made accordingly. I am not a native Arabic speaker, so if I mess something up please don't hesitate to tell me, I strive to be as accurate as possible, especially when working with a language that is not my native tongue.

**Author's Note:**

> All aboard the speculation train! You can blame shinis-sandbox on tumblr. She's encouraging this madness.


End file.
